How to Attract a Killer
by DinosaursgoRawr101
Summary: Issac "Zack" Foster is a Hunter assigned to bring in and kill other killers. But when he's assigned to kill Rachel Gardner, he finds that not everything is as it seems. AoD AU. Rated T for language and implied suggestive scenes.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! I'm finally back with a new Angels of Death fanfic! Definitely an AU but I hope ya'll will like it. Not every chapter will have both Rachel's and Zack's point of view but this one does to help set this story. **

Staring in morbid fascination as blood spiraled down her arm from her raised hand, the young girl blinked and swallowed hard, forcing the bile that rose in her throat back into her stomach as the reek of death filled her nose. `Curious, really,' she thought as she cocked her head to the side; as she gazed at his body, askew on the bed. She thought there would be more of a feeling of completion, didn't she? She thought she'd feel something more than the hollowness of nothing. No pity, no sorrow, no despair . . . Nothing . . .

Raising her hand in front of her face again, she sighed softly. Blood as deep as scarlet; glistening on her fingertips like stars in the night sky . . .

He hadn't cried out, had he? He hadn't made a sound when she'd stared into his eyes, when she cut his throat with a flick of her deadly-sharp nails. His blood had flowed over her like a macabre flood, and she hadn't shoved his body aside until the flow had slowed to a drip. The pool of crimson on the white sheets . . . She'd remember it forever. Insanity, perhaps? Divine retribution . . . Maybe she was as much of a monster as he was. Maybe that was why she hadn't felt a damn thing.

The opulent apartment solidified in her line of vision, and she smiled almost sadly. She wouldn't miss it; not at all. The trinkets and baubles . . . he had thought he owned her, didn't he? It was all a charade; a well-played deception, and she was absolutely, unequivocally an expert on deception . . .

With a sigh, she slipped into the adjacent bathroom, turned on the shower taps and stepped into the frigid cold. Closing her eyes against the sight of the watery streaks of red that washed down her body under the unrelenting flow, she stood there for what could have been hours. The water warmed, washing away the remnants of a terrible dream; of a dim shadow of life that sustained her.

Would the nightmares stop now? Would they leave her alone? The contorted beasts of distorted memory that had haunted her sleep . . . They'd tormented her for longer than she could recall; the demons of a night that would never let her go.

There should have been a sense of finality. There should have been some sort of recognition; a sense of completion to something that had begun so long ago. There was nothing, really. No peace, no happiness . . . not even self-loathing at the things she had done. She'd bided her time, waited for her chance, struggled to live in a world that hadn't even noticed her; fading in and out of the shadows that had offered her a strange sort of solace only to emerge into the light that blinded her . . .

It was nearly over, wasn't it? The end was so close she could feel it. She was tired; tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of living the charade in her world—a hall of mirrors. Good and bad had become a matter of perception, and maybe that was the truest evil of them all.

Shutting off the taps and stepping out of the shower, she dried herself off with curiously steady hands as her mind clicked over into habit. _`Dress . . . brush your hair . . . remember, you have to get out of here. Don't fall apart . . .'_

Hand pausing with the brush in mid-stroke, Rachel Gardner suddenly smiled. `Fall apart?' she mused as she resumed the brushing. `Fall apart . . .'

Catching the odd sparkle in her deep blue eyes, she wondered why she looked so calm, so nonchalant. She'd killed someone—premeditated murder. Funny. She didn't look like a killer, did she?

Dropping the brush onto the counter, she wrenched the door open and slipped back into the filmy light of the bedroom. The coppery scent of his blood was already fading, shifting into something darker, more rancid, something deeper and uglier . . . an odor she couldn't forget . . .

The flicker of memories that she knew only too well shot to life and flared up like the flames of a fire. Another time, another place . . . a run-down building where no one could possibly live . . . Another body left broken and bloody, and in the darkest corner . . .

Impossible, wasn't it? Images and memories combined in her head. Muffled screams, cries for mercy . . . Rachel shook her head and drew a deep breath.

_`Get out of here. You've done what you came to do. Don't get caught; not yet. Get out of here because they're coming. They'll hunt you, and they'll find you, and they'll kill you . . .'_

She knew that. Of course they would. They'd come with the wrath of God on their side, and they'd be right, wouldn't they? She expected no mercy, no quarter. It wouldn't matter in the end. It was a game, and it was still her move. She'd see it through till the end. They always sent out hunters to track down people like her...killers.

Sparing a moment to gaze around the room, committing the scene to memory, Rachel didn't smile as she blinked, staring at the disheveled bed, the blood soaked linens . . . His arm hung limply, knuckles scraping the floor. An edgy laugh welled inside her. Knuckle dragger? Somehow fitting, wasn't it? Clothes strewn haphazardly—he'd been in a hurry to get them off . . . She'd played her part well. He hadn't realized a thing until it was too late to do a damn thing . . .

_`One more, Rachel . . . just one more . . .'_

Digging through his wallet, she took his cash—cheap bastard. Pocketing the hundred dollars she found, Rachel turned toward the window and pushed it open. Into the night, into the shadows, blending into the darkness that she knew so well, she didn't look back. Somewhere in her mind, she wondered if the sense of accomplishment would come with the other. `New York City . . . That's where he is . . .'

Just one more, and she'd be free . . .

* * *

**Zack's POV**

"It's not a game, you know. Hunting is serious business."

Trying not to roll his eyes at the unnecessary censure in the older man's voice, Zack Foster sat back in the chair across from his father's desk and nodded. "I know."

In truth, Gray wasn't his father but the old bastard had taken in him once he was brought in to live with the other residents of a broken down and almost deserted hotel. He claimed to be a priest but Zack couldn't say for sure whether he was the real deal or just another psycho like the rest of them.

But it kept him from off the streets. Gray taught all of them how to survive, sent them on "hunting trips" that paid the bills and let Zack release some of his tension. He liked killing, felt good when he did so.

Gray wasn't finished; not by a long shot. "I trust you, of course. You've been trained. It's dangerous, Zack, and if you're smart, you'll guard your real identity with your life."

"Yes, sir." Gray had taught him long ago to always speak with yes and no sir, though he had to clench his teeth when he did so.

Gray sighed and slouched back, dragging a hand over his face before scowling at his son. "I'm dead serious, damn it."

"I know you are. So am I. I can do this."

Staring at Zack as though he were trying to measure him up, Gray finally nodded and leaned forward, pushing a large manila envelope across the smooth desktop. "Here you go. Your first hunt. This one is kind of different, though."

"Oh?" Zack questioned, picking up the envelope and bending the tabs to open the flap, scowling at the contents of the packet. A thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, a prepaid cell-phone, a one-way ticket to Los Angeles on a flight set to depart at noon, and a very thin folder . . . "What's this?"

"Expenditures. Never use anything that can be traced; never use a phone that can be tapped. I want you on that plane. Time is of the essence right now . . . and that," he said, nodding at the file, "is the profile of the girl I want you to bring in, such as it is."

"Girl?"

Gray nodded, watching Zack's face as he opened the file and scowled at the single piece of paper that should have had all the identifying information as well as a photo attached. Most of the lines were blank. Where height should have been listed was the vague reference, `somewhere around five feet tall', which pretty much encompassed better than ninety-five percent of females, and for hair color, it said, `rumored to be blonde.' The name was actually filled in. `Rachel', it said, but didn't give a last name, either. "Huh ?" he asked dubiously. "What the . . .? Gray, there's nothing to go on here."

"We don't always have the best information," Gray remarked. "That's all we were able to get. She was apparently Raiden Delgado's girlfriend, and the last one to see him alive."

"Raiden Delgado's?" Zack echoed, eyebrows lifting in surprise. The man in question wasn't a general but he was a high ranking officer. He was murdered? Why? "This girl killed him?"

Gray sighed. "So it would seem. I don't know . . . there's something weird about it. I can't put my finger on it. Anyway, I thought it'd be best to bring her in for questioning before a real hunt is issued for her."

That gave him pause. Gray never ordered someone be brought in for questioning. Then again, unless it was dire, hunts were considered to be last-resort options . . . "What do you think is weird about it?"

"I don't know, exactly," Gray admitted. "Just a feeling, maybe . . ."

Zack hesitated, knowing the man's feelings about that particular officer, but had to ask, "Are you sure that you're not looking for more since you hated the bastard?"

Gray leveled a dark look at his son and sat back. He'd never made any bones about his feelings toward Raiden Delgado. The man had been a pain in Gray's side for years. Too cowardly to challenge him outright, Delgado had spent way too much time trying to undermine Gray's authority in hushed whispers to others "Just because I wasn't fond of Delgado doesn't mean that I wouldn't have his killer brought to justice."

Zack grimaced inwardly. "Sorry."

Gray sighed, relaxing out of his wary posture. "If you read the file, I think you'll see what I mean. There's something missing; some crucial bit of information that simply isn't there. This girl might have that answer. Bring her in, Zack."

Zack frowned as he glanced back at the pitiful document. "Age: unknown . . . rumored to be very young? Is that right?"

Gray nodded. "That's one of the things that doesn't make sense."

"I see."

"Think you can do it?"

Zack stared at the paper for a moment before tucking it back into the folder and slipping all the items into the envelope once more. "Yeah."

"We just want her for interrogation right now, but remember: if she did kill Delgado, then she's dangerous."

"Understood."

"She was last rumored to be in the Los Angeles area."

Zack nodded as he stood to leave. Gray's voice stopped him. "That cell phone . . . it's not standard to take one along. If anything goes wrong—and I do mean anything—you call me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," he answered.

Gray stared at him for a long moment then finally nodded. "Good luck, hunter."

Zack nodded once and turned on his heel to leave.

_`This feels weird, Zack . . . Gray didn't give you hardly anything to go on.' _His inner voice quietly warned him.

`I know.'

`_You don't suppose he wants us to fail, do you?'_

`Don't be stupid. He's never wanted me to fail.'

_`Can we do this? Can we, really?'_

Zack's golden gaze lit with determination as he ran up the stairs to his bedroom. `Yeah,' he thought as he checked his watch. He had less than an hour to pack and to be on his way to the airport. `We can do this, or we can die trying... '

**Read and Review! Let me know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two is here! We're on a roll. I know Zack is a little out of character but this IS an AU. He still gets to kill but living with Gray and the others helped calm him down some. Don't worry, he'll still be our favorite psycho. **

"You know the rules, Rachel. Either buy something or get the fuck out."

Tapping her nails on the warped old counter in the dingy little place, Rachel tossed a dollar bill at the balding man with the middle age spread behind the bar. "Water."

The barkeep, better known as Leech, snorted. "`Water,' she says . . . One of these days . . ."

"I paid for it, didn't I?" she countered, her smooth voice dropping to a near-purr as she cocked an eyebrow at the disgruntled human.

Leech slammed a grimy glass of tepid water onto the bar and slipped the dollar into his pocket. Leaning over with his meaty arms resting on the counter, he crooked his finger to lure her closer. "There's a guy been lookin' for you the last couple nights. Thought you needs ta know."

"You don't say. What does this guy look like?"

He shrugged and craned his neck, scratching his chin with grungy fingernails. "My mind's goin' in my old age," he deadpanned, eyes shifting around the bar. "You want to jar my memory?"

She smiled insincerely, restraining the desire to wipe the lecherous smirk off the native New Yorker's flabby face. "And how could I do that?"

Sheer force of will kept her from recoiling as Leech leaned in. Hiding her disgust at the grimy yellowed teeth, the squalid breath as he laughed in her face, she narrowed her eyes and waited. "We could make a deal, you and me—something mutually beneficial if you know what I mean . . ."

His gaze roamed up and down her body, and she didn't even try to delude herself in thinking that the man wasn't stripping her naked in his mind. "I don't know, Leech . . . can you still get it up?"

Face contorting in an angry scowl, he turned his head to the side and spat on the floor. "Stupid bitch! Why don't you go into the back room with me, and I'll show you what I can still do."

"You can shove your information and your stubby little prick up your ass, as far as I'm concerned. I can take care of myself. I don't need you to worry about me. Lay off the junk food, you fat bastard. You'll live longer, don't you think?"

Leech's expression clouded over, and for a moment, she thought he might try to strike her. Suddenly he wheezed out a laugh, his breath hollow and airy before the laughter gave way to a wet smokers' cough. "I likes ya, even if ya are a real bitch. You's got balls."

She crossed her arms over her chest, tiring rapidly from the game that Leech just loved to play. "Are you going to spill your guts or not?"

"Ain't much to tell, thinkin' on it. He just came in and asked fer yas. `Do you know a woman named Rachel?' he asks, all business-like. Stood out like a sore thumb, he did. All bandaged up like some kind of mummy. . . Hell!" He laughed and coughed in turns.

"Bandages ?" she asked, ignoring Leech's amusement.

Leech made an exaggerated face as he straightened back up, wiping a glass with a dingy gray bar towel. "Yeah. He was tall . . . real tall: a huge motherfucker—a real brick shithouse . . . weird hair—a fuckin' weird color, one gold and the other brown or some damn thing."

"Anything else?"

To her surprise, Leech seemed unsettled, almost scared. "Do you know who he is?"

She ignored Leech's question as she grabbed the glass of water and walked away. In the darkest corner of the establishment, in the hidden recesses of the deepest shadows, she slipped into the chair at the table as she digested Leech's words.

_`They're coming for me? That was fast . . . Sounds like a different hunter, then... " _She had heard of the hunter they were sending, if it was him. But there was only one killer she knew that had bandages all over him, and that was Issac "Zack" Foster.

She was supposed to leave for New York City, had planned on doing that right after slipping out of Raiden Delgado's apartment, but she had a few more things to take care of. By the time she was ready to go, she'd learned through the police radio she'd tapped that there was a full-scale, albeit quiet hunt for her, and while humans and their pitiful excuse for law enforcement didn't worry her, if she was detained for any length of time, she'd be a sitting-duck for the hunter that they had apparently sent after her . . .

At least she didn't have to worry too much in her neighborhood. People learned quickly that squealers normally met with their own sort of comeuppance. Everyone was an outcast. No one conformed to the standard of society's molds. It was a vast network of eyes and ears where even a hunter better expect to watch his back.

She pushed the water glass away and sat back in the chair, eyes darting over the room, she took in the same faces she'd seen a hundred times if she'd seen them once . . . The man at the bar who never spoke sat slumped over the one mug of flat beer that he would nurse all night until closing time . . . The haggard woman at the table by the window . . . She had to wonder if the woman had ever seen whatever it was she was looking for. Precious few strangers milled into the establishment. They drew attention to themselves in a strange sort of way. More transient than the seasons, the unfortunate few who wandered through the doors. `Just how do people end up here? Is it by accident or design? Is it something destined to be? Preordained or just a fluke?' Frowning as she considered her own questions, she bit her lip and sighed. If it was the luck of the draw, could she accept that? Maybe that was the bitterest of ironies. Maybe there wasn't any real choice in it, at all . . .

The tired bell above the door announced the arrival of another shapeless stranger. She glanced up and started to look away only to stop as her eyes darted right back to the man who had stepped inside. "Him . . ." she murmured softly, leaning her elbow on the armrest and letting her chin fall into the `L' of her thumb and index finger.

Impossibly tall, he had to duck to clear the doorway, and he stood in the entrance as his eyes traversed the room. There was a strange tinge in his aura, a predatory sense of dexterity in his movements. Dark brown hair that caught the dingy light behind the bar, he seemed to be looking for someone. . Probing, searching, he was. He must have realized that he wasn't the only killer in the room. He stared at the shadows where she sat, and for the briefest moment, she thought that perhaps he could see her. Leech asked him what he wanted, and the man turned. Black leather duster flaring around his lean legs, she wasn't surprised to see the flash of the sycthe hilt strapped to his side. He was young, she noted—very young. She couldn't see his eyes from where she sat, but the wash of curiosity that surged through her was electric.

`Golden,' she thought fleetingly, a whimsical notion, the fleeting breath of a transient dream. He looked younger than he seemed.

_Don't underestimate him . . . it might well be the last mistake you ever make.'_`

She smiled lazily, gaze narrowing as she studied his mannerisms from the security of the shadows. He moved with a strange sort of grace, an elusive sense of something untamed with eyes that could see right into her soul . . .

As though he could sense her ardent perusal, he slowly turned around, gaze sweeping the barroom once more.

`Well, well, well . . . if it isn't the hunter... '

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

Zack stepped into the grimy bar on a whim. He'd already been there a couple of times, but having had no luck anywhere in the week since his arrival in Los Angeles, he figured it couldn't hurt. If anyone knew Rachel's whereabouts, they were keeping their mouths shut tight.

Ignoring the curious glances he garnered, Zack glanced out over the thin population. The place was a study of shadow. One long fluorescent bulb illuminated the bar but did little to dispel the pervasive darkness. "Water," he said in a low tone to the slovenly barkeep.

The barkeeper snorted. "I don't serve fucking water, pretty boy. Try again or get the hell out."

Zack cleared his throat. "Fine. Whiskey."

The man glared at him for another moment before slamming a shot glass onto the counter and sloshing the whiskey into it and shoving it across the counter. Zack dropped a five dollar bill onto the counter and turned away with the drink in hand.

Slowly, deliberately, Zack straightened his back and ambled into the darkness.

"Excuse me," he said, clearing his throat as the pinpoint flashes of light from her eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. "May I sit here?"

"It depends. Do you bite?"

Zack shook his head, feeling the rich smoothness of her soft alto voice flowing over him like water. "Not unprovoked."

"Oh? And if I provoke you?"

He didn't even crack a smile. "I'm a fairly patient man. It's not that easy to provoke me."

She sighed. "Well, that's a shame, then."

Slipping into the chair across from her, he set the glass down and waited for his eyes to adjust to the trace light.

"So what brings a young man like you out to play?"

Gritting his teeth at the allusion to his age—or lack thereof—Zack shrugged and pushed the grimy glass away. "Funny thing coming from a child."

"Aww, did I touch a nerve?"

"Nope, not at all . . . tell me something. I'm looking for a woman named Rachel. You know her?"

"Should I?" she countered.

He didn't miss the almost defensive way she'd asked her last question. "I hear she's like you. Do you know her?"

"I know . . . of her . . . why are you looking for her? Tired of playing with the others?"

"I just want to talk to her. Is that a crime?"

"Talk is cheap. Haven't you heard?"

"If you don't know her, just say so."

The girl didn't answer right away. He heard the rustle of fabric, the soft snick of a zipper. Moments later, she struck a match to light the end of a cigarette. Zack blinked in surprise. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to see in the harsh glare of light. In those seconds, those fleeting heartbeats, he saw her face. Unsure what he had really expected, she caught him completely off-guard.

Pale creamy skin warmed by the paltry light accentuated the delicate curves and hollows of her face. Hidden in shifting shadows and brushed with a softness that belied the age he saw in her cerulean blue eyes, he could tell that she was young, at least biologically. If she was twenty years old, he'd be amazed. Her eyes, though, bespoke an age that had nothing at all to do with her physical body. How much had she seen in her lifetime? Shaking the match with a painfully bony hand, she dropped the burnt stick into a bent tin ashtray. Zack tamped down the desire to growl. He wanted to see her face in better light.

The glow of the cigarette's ember gave the enveloping shadows a hazy feel. She exhaled softly and blinked. "I know her," she said, her voice little more than a breath. "I probably know her better than anyone."

"Can you tell me where to find her?"

"Rachel?" she asked with a jaded little laugh. "Rachel . . . she's easy to find."

"You don't say," he mused and shrugged. "Go figure."

"Why do you want to talk to her?"

Zack sat back, narrowing his eyes as he tried to discern more than the vague outline of black against black, as her silhouette blended a little too easily into the shadows. "I just want to ask her a few questions."

She sighed. "So ask them."

He snorted. "I'd rather ask her, if you don't mind."

"Oh, right . . ." She was quiet a moment. Zack could feel her gaze on him even if he couldn't really see her expression. "I could . . . take you to her, if you want."

He frowned. "And why would you do that?"

She chuckled. "I don't know . . . maybe I feel a little sorry for you."

"Sorry for me?"

"You look so lost and miserable. Let's just say I'm just feeling magnanimous tonight."

She moved so quickly that Zack had trouble covering his surprise. He stood up slowly as the girl laughed. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't."

Not comforted at all by her admission, Zack followed her anyway. It was the best lead he'd had so far. Even if the girl was just toying with him, he didn't have anything better to do.

She didn't say anything else until they were out of the bar. The light from the streetlamps cast the area in grating shadows, severe misshapen things, dilapidated buildings and contortions of life. Casting her an appraising stare under the cover of his thick bangs, Zack narrowed his eyes. She looked even younger than he had first thought—definitely younger than himself. If it weren't for the knowing glint in her eyes, he would have thought she was no older than fifteen.

Rubbing her bare arms against the chilly night air, she glanced up and down the street, eyes ever-moving, as though she expected someone to leap out at her from the shadows, and while she didn't appear to have a weapon on her, he didn't doubt for a moment that she knew how to use her razor-sharp claws. Flexing them almost nervously as she turned on her heel and started away, she stopped long enough to glance back at him, to jerk her head, indicating that he should follow.

Absently wondering just how she could move so fast as he shook his head and stared at the four-inch stiletto boots she wore, Zack strode after her, trying not to gawk at the tiny tube of black spandex—he supposed she considered it to be a skirt—that barely covered her bottom.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, breaking the lull, the shocking quiet. Didn't the girl have enough common sense to wear a jacket or something? He wasn't cold, but he was from Tokyo, and the weather there was easily twenty degrees cooler back home. Los Angeles might be a hell of a lot warmer, but the girl kept rubbing her arms, crossing them over her chest in a pitiful attempt to retain body heat. The black and white top didn't reach her navel, and she adjusted the left shoulder strap before snatching at her purse, protectively cradling it against her chest.

She peeked up at him quickly, shrugging her thin shoulders as her eyes darted around: constant motion, or so it seemed. "It's not far," she assured him, tucking a strand of deep auburn hair behind her ear.

"What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

"I asked first."

"But I'm a lady."

He couldn't argue that logic. "Zack," he supplied slowly. "Your turn."

She smiled vaguely and stopped. " Should we shake hands now, or are there more pleasantries to exchange first?"

"I'd rather you take me to Rachel," he remarked.

She shrugged and started walking again. "Suit yourself, pretty boy, but I warn you: Rachel's not exactly what you'd call a `people-person'."

"I'm not really here for a social call."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm not really at liberty to discuss anything with you. You understand."

She smiled. "Right . . . Don't tell me you're a long lost boy-toy? You don't really seem her type . . ."

Keeping his chin down in an effort to hide the hot color that filtered into his cheeks, Zack shrugged in what he hoped was an indifferent show and cleared his throat. "Ever meet her boyfriend? Raiden Delgado?"

"Raiden Delgado? Yeah, I met him . . . a real bastard, if you want my opinion. Are you a dic?"

"A what?"

"A dic? A P. I. A detective . . . a cop."

"Oh . . . no."

"Yeah, you don't look the type."

"Don't I?"

"Nope. You don't look like a complete asshole."

"Thanks . . . I think . . ."

She glanced around again, biting her lower lip before veering to the left, into the gaping black doorway of a derelict building that looked like it was ready to crumble.

Zack had no choice but to follow her into the ramshackle building. Listening intently as he scanned the darkest corners, he didn't sense anyone else and shook his head. "Listen. . . I don't know what your game is, but—"

"Ask me no questions; I'll tell you no lies."

". . . What?"

Standing in the center of a shaft of moonlight filtering through the line of ventilation windows that ran the length of the building, she whirled around to face him, a strangely sad, almost ironic sort of smile twisting her lips. Her bangs fell over the left side of her face, her skin glowed blue in the weak light. So impossibly slender that he could see the pronounced hollows above her collarbones, she looked somehow unreachable and altogether vulnerable at the same time.

"What is it you want to know, Zack the Hunter?"

He stifled a sigh, dragging a hand over his face as he shook his head and stared at her. "I thought you said—"

"I know what I said. I said I'd introduce you to Rachel."

"So where is she?"

That enigmatic little smile appeared again, and she dropped her purse on the floor, raising a small cloud of dust. "She's me . . . I'm her . . . and this is my turf."

He couldn't stop the incredulous laugh that slipped out at her outlandish claim. "You're Rachel? Ri-i-ight . . . Come on. If you don't know her, just say so."

She sighed. "You don't believe me?"

Zack snorted. "Pfft! No."

She nodded slowly, lowering her chin as she paced around the filthy room. "How can I convince you?"

"Why would you want to? Your friend is in some very serious trouble."

"Are you here to kill me, Mr. Hunter—a nameless, faceless nobody?"

"Assuming I believe you're who you claim to be—which I don't—what makes you think that I'm here to kill anyone?"

"Oh? Isn't that what hunters do?"

"Sometimes."

"They're called `hunters' for a reason, right? So what are you here for, if not to kill me?"

"I told you. I just want to talk to Rachel."

"And I told you, hunter, talk now or forever hold your peace."

Grinding his teeth together in an effort to keep his irritation under control, Zack shook his head as he stared at the small female. "You really want me to believe you're Rachel?"

She shrugged and stared at him, her eyes glowing in the murky dark.

"It doesn't make a difference to me, one way or the other, hunter. If you don't want to believe that I am who I say I am, then you can walk out that door right now and never look back. Then I suppose you can go back to your leader and tell him that you failed, can't you?"

Assessing her where she stood in the shaft of moonlight, she looked completely harmless, didn't she? Hair cascading around her like a silky waterfall, translucent skin stretched so taut over an otherwise bony frame . . . Painfully thin, every bone of her body seemed visible. Under the short shirt, he could see the discernable lines of her ribcage, and he winced inwardly. There was a vast difference between word games and murder. This girl, no matter what her story might be . . . his instincts were screaming at him: she wasn't a murderer. She couldn't be a murderer, and he knew it.

"Prove it."

"Prove what?"

"If you're Rachel, then prove it."

"And how shall I do that?"

He shrugged. "Find a way."

She smiled slightly; a cynical expression devoid of humor, of emotion. "Nine days."

"What?"

She sighed, pinning Zack with a look that bespoke her disgust at his ignorance. "Nine days . . . To be more precise, nine days, twenty hours . . . some odd minutes . . ."

He shook his head without taking his eyes off her.

"You poor stupid hunter . . . Isn't that what you came here to find out? You wanted to know, right? I killed Raiden Delgado—that miserable bastard."

Her words stung him, and yet his mind still refused to believe. Could someone so young, so innocent-looking despite the age writ in her eyes really be a murderer? "Reciting a time of death that is of public record barely proves guilt or innocence in this world."

"Did you go there?"

"Go there?"

"To Delgado's apartment. Did you go there?"

"Of course I did."

"You didn't smell me there?"

"It's a crime scene. There have been a hundred people parading in and out of that place. Picking up a scent is nearly impossible."

"I suppose it is. Makes your job harder, doesn't it?"

"Why do you want me to believe that you're Rachel?"

"Why do you want to believe that I'm not?"

He shook his head. "So you tell me you are her, and then you say you killed Delgado? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Tell me why you killed him."

Sinking down on a broken cinder block, legs askew but knees together, she seemed to be considering his question. Zack draped his hands on his hips and waited for her answer. "It doesn't really matter, does it? To kill . . . to live . . . to die . . . it all circles back on itself." She didn't move as her gaze shifted to meet his, blue eyes glowing with something akin to amusement . . . or maybe it was something a little deeper, a little more frightening . . . "I don't fear you. I don't fear any of the hunters hangmen."

"All right," he allowed slowly. "If that's the case, then you have to come with me."

"I do?"

"Those are my orders. They want to talk to you."

"Sorry to disappoint him," she remarked in a rueful tone. "I'll have to decline his offer.

"You don't have much of a choice."

She stood up slowly, refusing to drop her gaze. He saw the fleeting glimpse of regret flash through her eyes. "In another life," she murmured softly. "In another time or place . . ."

"What's that?"

Her smile was sad, mysterious, and the flash of her movements startling. Caught off-guard, Zack started to draw his sycthe as he whipped around to face her. Blinding pain flashed, an explosion behind his eyes, and he slumped to the floor with an expelled gust of breath.

Rachel caught him, carefully lowering him onto his back despite the immense weight that accompanied his very solid physique. He'd be safe enough here, in this building. No one dared to enter it. She'd made sure of that, herself. Kneeling beside the young hunter, she bit her lip and sighed. Pushing his bangs out of his face, she almost smiled at the boyish features he hid behind those startling golden and brown eyes. The angles and planes were tempered by the wide set of his jaw, by the smoothness of his skin. He might well be older than she was, but not by much. Why did looking at him make her sad? She shook her head, pulled her hand away from his cheek. "Why didn't you listen to me? Why didn't you just turn around and walk away?"

His only answer was the even rhythm of his breathing. "I'm sorry, Zack the Hunter . . ."

With that, Rachel stood up, retrieved her purse, and disappeared into the murky shadows of the night without looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

**And we're back with the next chapter for our favorite serial killers! I had the weekend off from work so I was able to update quicker. Hope you enjoy!**

Groaning softly as he sat up slowly, rubbing the side of his head where the girl had hit him with . . . God only knew what . . . He had a feeling it was that gargantuan monstrosity she called a purse. He should have realized it wasn't a purse at all but a weapon . . .

_`Way to go, Zack . . . She could have killed us."_

Wincing as he got to his feet, swaying precariously as he bit back the edges of dizziness, he shook his head and blinked.

He wasn't unconscious long: five minutes at the most. She obviously wasn't trying to kill him, but he had underestimated her. How dangerous was she, hiding behind that innocent face?

Breaking into a sprint despite his aching head, Zack gritted his teeth and forced himself to run, following her scent—the unsettling mix of vanilla and warm spice. `Cinnamon? Cloves? What is that?'

_`Who cares what spice she smells like, you moron? You're tracking her, not looking for a date to the prom...'_

The first place he'd gone after arriving at LAX was Raiden Delgado's apartment. Sneaking past the guards stationed outside the apartment was easy enough. Dropping from the roof onto the balcony, he'd slipped inside without commotion, only to find that the place had been crawling with investigators and police officers. He'd tried to come up with a scent of the elusive girl despite all that. It wasn't possible. Whatever scent she might have left behind was covered with the reek of way too many humans. Even Delgado's scent on the bloodstained bed was faint and masked.

None of Delgado's friends were helpful. Raiden normally divided his time between Chicago and New York City, and the few friends he had in the Los Angeles area had never met this alleged girlfriend, which just figured. Humans, he was coming to understand, were a horribly indifferent lot who didn't notice much of anything if they weren't told to look for it. They could talk to someone for twenty minutes and not be able to recap the gist of the conversation, let alone to describe what the other person looked like.

The waif-like appearance of the young woman seemed to dance before his eyes. In the harshness of the yellow street lamps, her eyes seemed to glow as her lips turned up in a thoroughly amused grin.

Squelching a frustrated growl as he sprinted past derelict buildings and ramshackle businesses that looked like they'd fail inspection by the Department of Health, Zack couldn't tell if he was closing in on her or not. A left turn here, a right turn there, and still her scent lingered, teasing him, goading him, as if she were doing little more than toying with him, batting him to and fro between her proverbial paws.

When he turned the corner by the abandoned building where he'd started the chase, Zack skidded to a stop and growled. She really was playing with him, wasn't she? "All right, Rachel . . . whatever the hell your name is," he mumbled as his gaze swept the area. He could feel that she was close. If only he could see her . . . "The game is on . . ."

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

Rachel peered over the edge of the building and bit her lip. `I shouldn't have circled back . . . He was fine, right? I knew he was fine...'

Still, she hadn't been able to shake off the feeling that she really had hurt him. She'd taken off with every intention of disappearing for awhile—at least until the Zack the Hunter was gone. She hadn't gotten more than a few blocks away when her conscience had begun gnawing at her. Though she'd tried to tell herself that it didn't matter, that he would wake up eventually, she wasn't surprised to see that she'd circled back, but when she'd ducked inside to see if he was still breathing, she figured out he was gone.

The dusty darkness played tricks on her. The lingering remains of his aura seeped out of the drafty cracks, the blackened holes. Filtering through the shrunken floorboards as the chill night winds siphoned in, it seemed as uncontainable, as untouchable as a midsummer's dream. Why did she feel even more alone? The hunter with the different colored eyes . . .

`_He's coming, Rachel. Get out of here, will you?'_ Her conscience chided her.

The building was so decrepit that she didn't dare run up the old staircase when she felt his presence closing in. She'd barely had time to leap onto the roof outside before he came back into view. `He's a damn good tracker; I'll give him that . . .'

In her haste to get away, she hadn't forgotten the few simple things she'd learned over the years. Altering her course between the sidewalk, the roofs, and the alleys normally made it harder for the few hunters that inhabited the area to find her, and really? She smiled insincerely. Hunters had a tendency not to look up.

`This is all your fault,' she sneered at herself, shrinking back into the shadows but still leaning over enough to see as Zack the Hunter's head came into view.

_`You just had to feel bad, didn't you? You just had to come back to check on him . . .' _She glanced to look at him again. `_His hair looks really soft,'_ she mused, smiling slightly as she peered over the edge.

Rachel stifled a sigh as she sank back on her knees, resting her chin on her clasped hands atop the low lip that ran around the perimeter of the roof. `Just a little longer . . . Just a little more, and I can stop . . .No going back.'

There wasn't, was there? Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run . . . the only thing she had was the hope that she could elude them long enough to see her vengeance through.

She'd spent her entire life hiding in the shadows; had run so far for so long that it was the only thing she really knew. What did Zack the Hunter hide behind those golden eyes? What sort of things had he grown up with?

Unleashing a piercing scream as a firm hand wrapped around her wrist and jerked her to her feet, Rachel was whipped around, crashing straight into the very solid mass of a body—Zack the Hunter's body. Glowering down at her behind a mask of barely contained irritation, he looked like he'd rather choke her than capture her, and just for a moment, her heart skipped a beat.

"Care to tell me why you bitch-slapped me back there?"

"So you caught me."

"Yeah. Answer my question."

"What are you going to do with me?" she countered.

Eyes shrouded in the darkness as he glared down at her, Rachel wished that she could read his eyes. She could sense the barely contained anger that flowed through him, and though he wasn't holding onto her tightly, he was definitely too strong for her to easily gain her freedom. "I could have sworn I told you: you're coming with me."

"I'd love to take you up on that," she drawled, "but I've got things to do. You'll understand."

"You don't have a choice. Don't make me lock you up."

"Lock me up? That sounds fun . . ."

"Are you going to try to escape?"

She smiled. "Every chance I get."

He sighed, reaching into the inner breast pocket of his black leather duster. Her eyes flared as she watched him pull a set of shiny silver handcuffs, and she couldn't suppress her amusement as he slapped one around her wrist without taking his gaze off her.

"You don't really think those are going to stop me, do you?"

He chuckled. "Actually, I do."

"Oh, now, that's sneaky."

"And coldcocking me wasn't?"

"You're not going to hold that against me, are you?"

"Let's try this again," he said, ignoring her question. "Who are you, really?"

"Not this again . . . I've told you, right? I'm Rachel."

He stared at her for several moments. "So you're saying you're Rachel?"

"You catch on quick, hunter. Not just a pretty face, are you?"

"Are you schizophrenic?"

"No." She scoffed.

"Ri-i-ight."

"Don't you think that this is a little extreme?" she questioned, holding up her bound hands.

"Nope."

"But I can't touch your hair this way," she pouted, going for the sultry way she had seen and mimiced other females around her.

Zack snorted, grasping her arm as he prepared to leap from the roof.

"So you are trying to kill me," she said before he could jump.

He stopped abruptly and glowered at her. "What?"

"Without my arms, I'll lose my balance. Killing your quarry? Then where will you be?"

"And how do you know I haven't changed my mind about killing you?"

She grinned. "You haven't. Your boss wanted me alive, didn't he?"

"That was before you decided to sucker-punch me."

"Hardly a sucker-punch. You should have known that a murderer can't be trusted."

"Just move it, kid."

"Well, if you're supposed to bring me in alive, then you'll be in trouble if I die when you drag me off the roof."

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he pondered her not so subtle threat. With a frustrated grunt, he hefted her up over his shoulder and hopped off the roof before she could protest. As soon as he lit on the ground, he let her slip off his shoulder. She stumbled but managed to catch her balance as she shot him a fulminating glare; as she tried not to blush at the obvious insult.

"Move it, will you?"

Cheeks burning at the hunter's brusque treatment, Rachel narrowed her eyes as she glowered up at him. "I don't think I will."

"Suit yourself," he growled as he reached for her again.

Rachel stepped back in retreat and nearly stumbled over a large rock behind her. "I don't think so."

"Then walk."

Seeing no way around the intolerable predicament, Rachel stomped away with a heavy sigh. Zack fell in step beside her, deigning only to grunt and point when they reached the end of the block. She turned to the left, following the sidewalk that he'd indicated. `I can't believe he's such a jerk!' she fumed as her purse strap slid off her shoulder. The bag thumped against her knee as she continued to stride forward.

_`Well, you can't really say you didn't earn that.' _

The brush of his fingertips against her arm made her falter, and Rachel stopped short, staring incredulously as Zack the Hunter clumsily pulled her purse strap up and let it fall on her shoulder again. "Thank you," she said before she could stop herself.

He shrugged and started walking again. "You got lead in that thing?"

She blinked as her gaze fell to her bag, and for a moment, she almost smiled. "Nope, bricks."

"I thought as much."

"I'm sorry I hit you," she muttered.

It was his turn to stop and stare at her, his eyes hidden in shadows. The chill breeze rippled through his hair, carrying an odd but inviting scent of wood and sun-dried grass. "Come on," he finally said, turning away from her as he moved on. "We're leaving first thing in the morning."

"Leaving? How?"

Zack sighed. "Not sure. I have to call my—leader and ask him how he wants you brought in. If you really are Rachel, then the human authorities are probably looking for you."

"Human authorities? You mean the cops? They don't frighten me."

Zac shook his head and snorted. "Yeah, well, we don't really need to mess with them if we don't have to, right?"

"We? Hmm . . . that has a nice ring to it . . ."

"There is no `we', Rachel. There's just me, and this `me' is taking you back to Maine so you can plead your case."

"I'd rather eat dirt than talk to him," she quipped pleasantly.

"Ah, then it's a good idea that you don't get to choose. You're already scrawny enough. You look like a sack of wet cats, you know. Can't think that eating dirt would help that, in any case."

"A sack of—!" she sputtered indignantly, trying in vain to jerk her hands through the tight confines of the handcuffs. "Why, you—"

"Just move it, will you?" he grumbled. "I'm tired, and for some reason, my head feels like it's going to explode."

Snapping her mouth closed at the blatant reminder, Rachel kept walking. She tried to catch the eyes of a passing group of teenagers, but they all seemed too busy to notice her plight. `That's fine,' she thought as she bit her lip and kept moving. `I'll find a way to escape . . .'

Rachel grudgingly conceded the truth of that as she stole another glance at the hunter. Eyes shifting around as he scanned the street for trouble, he looked deep in thought. Even with the bandages, she thought he was actually quite handsome.

_`He'd just be a means to an end, right?'_

Rachel's inner voice laughed. `. . . Sure, Ray. Sure . . .'


	4. Chapter 4

**You know, I think the point of these stories is more for the writer than the reader. I know this fandom is small but I'm hoping I can get more awareness out there. It's such a good story and the fanfictions for it can really go anywhere. **

Zack sat in the overstuffed chair in the small hotel room and rubbed his forehead with a tired hand as he heaved a sigh and peeked up through his lashes at the young female perched on the double bed, rubbing her emancipated wrists.

"That's hardly a way to treat a lady," she pointed out, lips drawn down in a moue.

"All this from the girl who had no qualms about walloping me with her purse? I think not."

"Really . . . you don't think I should have just stood by and waited for you to handcuff me, do you?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that she should have done just that. "Of course not," he grumbled.

"And I apologized for hitting you."

"All right," he growled. "You've made your point."

She rolled her eyes as she brought her legs up, sitting on her knees with her hands planted on the tacky floral print coverlet, leaning forward as she regarded him curiously. "Where are you from, Zack the Hunter?"

"Does it matter?"

She shrugged. "No, not really . . . So, where?"

He sighed. "Tokyo."

"Ahh . . . Is it pretty there? Tokyo? I've seen pictures . . . postcards . . ."

"Sure."

"What are you doing?" she demanded as he reached for the telephone.

"I'm hungry," he said, measuring his words, struggling for the patience that he just didn't possess. "I'm going to order food."

"Food?" she echoed.

Zack sighed and shrugged. "Yes, food. You don't look like you've eaten a decent meal in—well, ever, and I'm starving."

Ordering two steaks with all the trimmings, a bottle of water for himself, and a glass of milk for Rachel, he didn't look at her again until after he hung up the phone.

"Two steaks? You're really hungry," she commented.

He shot her a dark look. "One of them is for you."

"For me? But I'm not hungry . . ."

Zack stared at the frail girl and shook his head. `Stubborn, prideful . . . she's starving, damn it! Look at her!'

He sighed again. "Then don't eat it."

"I-I won't."

"Fine."

Flexing her nails, kneading the coverlet, Rachel pursed her lips as her eyes darted around the room, scanning the corners, as though she were afraid that something was lurking in the semi-dark.

If he hadn't been so irritated when he'd turned on the lamps in the room, he'd have paid more attention to her. As it was, he'd ended up staring for several moments when he'd turned around only to come face to face with what he hadn't really expected. She looked completely different in the light . . .

He hadn't realized that her hair was so vibrant. While he had seen the deep blonde sheen of her hair, he hadn't realized that she had golden streaks running through it. Catching the light, bathing her in a warm glow, her eyes seemed even more startling; darker, deeper, full of secrets that she guarded with jealous tenacity. In the past, it was eyes like that that would make him want to kill. Her body was thin—almost painfully so—making her seem even more delicate, vulnerable, and he supposed it was that impression that had caused him to let his guard down with her in the abandoned building.

She looked like the proverbial girl next door, not some deranged woman who had killed a man in cold blood.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the curt knock sounded on the hotel room door. Zack stood up as Rachel shrank back, eyes widening, pupils dilating. If he listened really close, he wondered if he would be able to hear her heart beating . . .

Holding the door open to admit the young man with the rolling cart, Zack waited patiently while he anchored the cart's wheels then slipped a tip into the waiter's hand before closing the door.

Strolling over to the cart as he caught the way Rachel rose on her knees, lifting her chin and tipping her head back as she tried to see the food, Zack slowly, deliberately lifted the silver domes off the steaming plates of food. "Hmm, looks good," he remarked. Rachel snorted but didn't comment. "You sure you don't want one?"

"I'll pass," she grumbled, sinking down on her heels.

"You positive?"

She forced herself to nod. "Uh huh."

"All right," he said with a defeated sigh. "Suit yourself."

Eyes shifting, watching him as he grabbed the bottle of water and returned to the comfort of the easy chair, Rachel sat back, drawing her legs up, wrapping her arms around them as she dropped her chin on her knees.

Zack cut into his steak and ate in silence, ignoring the voice in his head that upbraided him for eating in front of someone who wasn't doing the same. Wrinkling his nose at the thought, Zack stifled a sigh and took his time chewing, peering up at Rachel without lifting his head.

Staring at the food as though she were willing it to move into her hands, he swallowed some water and cleared his throat. "You can have it if you want it," he coaxed almost gently.

"I-I'm not hungry," she stammered.

"All right, but . . . seems like a waste."

"What do you mean?"

Zack shrugged as he cut another bite and stuck it in his mouth. "I mean," he said around a mouthful of food, "It'll just be thrown away if you don't want it."

"Thrown away?" she echoed, looking entirely too outraged to credit. "You can't do that!"

"Why not?" he asked as he swallowed.

"Because," she shot back, cheeks pinking in indignation, "it's wasteful!"

"Well, I've got my food. I don't need that. Do me a favor, would you?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's that?"

"Dump that milk in the bathroom sink. It'll be gross if you don't."

He saw it in her eyes, the wavering resolve as she frowned at the food on the cart. "Millions of people starving all over the world, and you're going to throw away food?" she grumbled.

He heaved a sigh and set his plate aside to cross his arms over his chest as he stared at her. "Listen, Rachel. I'm too damn tired to care about saving millions of people. If you want to do something about it, then eat it. If you do, then you won't have to feel bad about my wastefulness."

He didn't think she was going to comply. She scowled at him for what seemed like a full minute before slowly untangling her legs and cautiously approaching the cart. Moving in stilted, jerky motions like she was afraid that someone would swoop down and snatch the food out from under her nose she glanced around as her hand slipped under the plate and picked up the glass of milk before shooting him an inscrutable look before hurrying back to the bed.

They ate in silence. Zack didn't really taste his food, his attention too keen on the girl. She seemed a little clumsy with the steak knife. He caught her eye and shrugged offhandedly, gesturing at the knife with the one in his hand.

Interrupted from his thoughts as he watched Rachel swallow the milk in a series of gulps without coming up for air, Zack sighed inwardly as he reached for the phone to order more.

"I don't need it," she said as he dropped the handset back into the cradle.

"Don't worry about it."

"But I don't want anything from you."

"I know."

"I have money," she offered grudgingly.

"Keep your money. I didn't ask for it."

"But—"

"It's just a meal, Rachel. You look like you could use one."

That shut her up. Cheeks reddening as she stared at her empty plate, she slowly got to her feet and set it back on the cart before retreating to the bed again.

Zack stifled a sigh. It was going to be a long night . . .

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

"What are you reading?"

Zack didn't look up from the paper in his hand. "None of your business."

Rachel scowled as she chewed the last bite of green beans. "Fine, fine . . . You're pretty grouchy."

"And you're pretty nosy."

"What do you expect?"

"Haven't you heard the old saying? `Curiosity . . .'"

"Ah, but what a way to go . . . Anyway, is it important?"

Zack sighed and shot her a bored glare before tucking the paper back into the manila envelope and sticking it in his suitcase before snapping the locks and striding toward the bathroom.

Rachel grabbed the empty milk glasses and carried them over to the table, pausing as she stared at the condiment packets strewn on the cart. Before she could think about it, she scooped up the packets of salt and pepper as well as the two foil packets with wet-naps inside. Hurrying over to grab her purse and ferret away the items, she scowled at her fingers as she quickly yanked on the zipper.

"What are you doing?"

Choking out a startled yelp, she whipped around, clutching her purse tightly. "Doing?"

Zack eyed her suspiciously, rocking back on his heels as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, Rachel. What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing," he echoed dubiously.

"That's right—nothing."

"What'd you put in your purse?"

"My . . .? I don't know what you're talking about," she scoffed.

Zack stared at her for another moment before tugging her purse out of her arms.

"What are you—? What do you think you're doing? Who do you think you are? Give that back!" Rachel hollered, trying in vain to retrieve her bag.

Ignoring her pleas, he unzipped it, holding it open to frown at the contents inside. "Sugar . . . salt . . . pepper . . . ketchup? What the hell is all this?"

Rachel snatched her purse out of his slack hands and retreated to the sanctuary of the bed, wrapping her arms around her purse as she glowered at the coverlet where she sat.

"Why do you have all that crap?"

Unable to fight back the deep blush that rode high in her cheeks, Rachel refused to answer.

"I don't get it, Rachel. Do you need it?"

"You never know," she grumbled. "I might."

"You've got plastic silverware in there," he pointed out.

"I might need it."

"What? Do you live out of that bag of yours?"

Ducking her chin a little lower as she wondered just how this stranger—Zack the Hunter—could make her feel so stupid. "So what if I do?"

He sighed and shook his head before flopping into the chair once more. "Reminds me . . . I'll take you by your place tomorrow."

"My place? Why?"

Telegraphing her a look that stated quite plainly that he thought she was simply being stubborn, he tapped his claws on the armrest impatiently. "To get your things . . . your clothes."

"I don't need to go anywhere," she grumbled.

"Don't be stubborn. You need some clothes and whatever else. Just pack light."

"I've got everything I need," she countered, wondering just why she was telling him anything at all.

"Rachel—"

"Not everyone lives in a stupid apartment. What is it anyway, but a cage with a door?"

"So where do you live?" he asked almost cautiously.

Rachel shrugged and lifted her chin defiantly. "Here . . . there . . . lots of places, really."

"You don't have a home?"

"Define `home'."

"Don't be catty."

"Mee-ow."

"I'm being serious."

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she zipped her bag and shoved it behind her back. "And you think I'm not?"

"What about your clothes?"

Flicking her nails to examine them, she jerked her head, indicating her bag. "All there."

"What?"

"I thought hunters had good hearing."

"What-fucking-ever, kid," he grumbled.

"Besides that, having too much stuff is overrated. Sooner or later, someone comes along and tries to take it."

". . . People stole your things?"

Rachel shrugged. "Well, it wasn't ever like I had much, anyway. Does it matter?"

He stared at her, eyes bright, searching. A flicker of some foreign emotion surfaced before she looked away. It wasn't pity, exactly, and for that, Rachel was thankful. She couldn't stand to be pitied . . . "I wasn't trying to steal your purse," he said quietly.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not polite to snoop in a lady's purse?"

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not polite to smack someone upside the head with the same lady's purse?"

She smiled slightly at the belligerent expression on his face. "Touché, Hunter. Careful, or I might start liking you."

"God forbid," he muttered, reclining in the chair as he propped his ankles on the dresser. "Go to sleep, will you? And don't make me handcuff you, okay?"

She almost argued that with him out of spite. Staring at the warm, clean bed, she bit her lip and stole another glance at the hunter. Eyes closed, completely relaxed, he almost looked like he was already asleep. She knew better, but still . . .

How long had it been, since she was comfortable enough to sleep well? Grimacing inwardly as she decided that she was far better off not answering, Rachel crawled under the covers and curled up on her side, purse nestled between her knees and her chest as she closed her eyes.

She'd figure out everything in the morning. It would all make more sense in the light of day . . .


	5. Chapter 5

**I really wish more people were in this fandom. It's so good! I loved the game, the manga AND the anime. I know the characters are a little OOC in this fic but I had the idea and couldn't get it out of my head. Besides, with an AU you can take liberties with that and make them however you want.**

**Anywho, let me know what you think! Enjoy **

Zack stifled a frustrated growl as he tapped his foot impatiently and tried to figure out just how to convince the irrational woman to comply. Arms crossed over her chest with a mulish scowl on her pretty features, she gazed around in a rather bored manner as she slowly lifted her eyes to him once more.

"Hurry up, will you? Just pick some clothes so we can get moving."

"I don't like anything in here," she informed him.

"Seven outfits, Rachel."

"Seven?"

"Yes, seven."

"I told you, I don't like the clothes here."

Striding over to the nearest rack, Zack jerked down the first dress he saw. "This one will do," he growled as he reached for another.

"I am not wearing that," she warned as she glared at the floral print, knee-length dress.

"If you won't pick out some clothes, then I will, and if I do, you probably won't like them. Now get moving, will you? We should have been on the road hours ago."

She opened her mouth to retort then snapped it closed as an entirely . . . catty grin surfaced on her face. "You haven't been laid in awhile, have you?"

Unable to staunch the flow of blood that darkened his cheeks to a ruddy hue, Zack blinked and squeaked out something between an outraged squeal and a frustrated growl. "That is none of your business," he grumbled as Rachel, wisely choking on her laughter, quickly turned away before she burst out laughing, right in his face.

`She's got to be the single most impossible woman ever created,' he fumed, jamming the dress back onto the rack before pinning her with the fiercest glower he could muster—entirely unsatisfactory since he could tell his face was still flushed. Between her outrageous line of questioning and her desire to challenge him at every turn, he figured that if it had been safe to fly back to Maine with her, he would have hustled her onto the first plane out . . .

Unfortunately, that really wasn't an option.

Worried that the human authorities were also searching for her, Gray had left explicit instructions that Zack was to drive back with her. "It would look suspicious," Gray had maintained this morning while Rachel was in the bathroom, "if you were hightailing it back here. Better to take your time . . ."

"Take my time?" Zack echoed incredulously, glowering at the rumpled sheets that still smelled like the girl who had slept there. "Gray—"

"You're pretty good with people," Gray went on, ignoring Zack's reluctance. "At least, you are now. Maybe you can get her to talk."

"About what?"

"You said she told you that she killed Raiden Delgado?"

"She did, but . . . I don't know. I don't believe her."

Gray didn't reply right away, and when he did, Zack grimaced. "So you like her?"

"It's not like that. It's just . . . call it gut instinct . . . she's not a murderer."

"Well, if you don't think she did it, do you think that you can get her to talk?"

"Thought that's why you wanted me to bring her in."

"It is, and I do. Since you'll be traveling with her, though, I thought maybe you could try to get something out of her."

Zack sighed, rubbing his eyes with a weary hand. "I can try."

"Okay. Call me in a couple of days. Let me know how it's going."

"Will do."

And he'd hung up just as Rachel, wrapped in a thin hotel towel, came padding out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry . . .

Of course, then she'd pitched a fit about going clothes shopping, but there was no way in hell Zack was letting her run around for God knew how long in skirts that barely covered her and shirts that revealed more than they concealed.

"I tell you what, hunter," Rachel said, snapping Zack out of his recollections as she idly pushed hangers aside on a rack of skimpy summer dresses. "I'll humor you with the clothes if you'll humor me in return."

"Humor you?" he repeated dubiously. "And just how will I humor you?"

She shot him another catty grin before turning her attention back to the rack in front of her. "I think you need to get laid."

He closed his eyes for a moment, gritting his teeth together as he counted to twenty—then on to fifty for good measure. "I think you need to mind your own business."

"You said that you were taking me to Maine, right? That means that we'll be traveling together awhile, and if you're this grumpy now, I can just imagine how bad you'll be in a week or two. You need to get some ass; that's all there is to it."

He wasn't sure if he were more shocked that she was actually suggesting that she would help him find a willing girl or that she was able to discuss such things in a thoroughly nonchalant manner. Either way, it didn't bode well for him, and he snorted. "Yeah, my sex life is none of your concern."

"Do you even have a sex life, hunter?"

Taking the time to count to twenty again, Zack slowly shook his head. "I could have sworn I told you that it's none of your business."

"Relax, Zack the Hunter. It's not like I'm saying you have to jump into bed with me . . . I'm sure we can find someone you can handle . . . a librarian or something."

The color that rushed to his cheeks this time had more to do with anger than it did embarrassment. Zack could feel his jaw ticking and wondered if she were trying to nerve him on purpose. "Just pick out some clothes, Rachel," he gritted out between his clenched teeth.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked with a sigh. "This all looks so . . . domestic."

Rolling his eyes at the disgust evident in her tone at the very idea of being `domesticated', Zack shifted his jaw to the side, lips pursing as he reminded himself that he didn't dare yell at her in front of everyone in the store. "Look, it's cold where we're going. You'll be sorry if you don't have something warmer to wear."

A sudden scowl crossed her features, more of a thoughtful frown than a show of displeasure, and she slowly turned to regard him. "Zack?"

"What?"

"It snows there, doesn't it? In Maine?"

He frowned, too. "Snow? Yeah . . . `course it does."

He wasn't sure how to interpret the strange glint that lit behind her sparkling green eyes. "I've never seen snow," she finally admitted, her voice soft, husky—caressing.

Mentally brushing aside the distinctly pleasant shiver that ran down his back as her voice flowed over him, Zack shrugged. "Guess it doesn't snow in LA."

"That'd be a crime, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed, relaxing just a little. "You've never been out of LA before?"

Rachel pulled a short little wool sweater dress off the rack and held it in place with her chin as she stretched out her arm to measure the length of the sleeve. "Nope."

Zack' frown shifted into a thoughtful scowl. "Not ever?"

"Nope."

"The white one would be prettier on you," he commented absently.

She shot him a quick glance. "White stains too quickly."

"So just be careful not to spill on yourself."

Rachel stared at the sweater dress for a moment before casually slinging it over her arm. "Fine, but only because I'll get to tell you that I told you so when it gets ruined."

"Does it matter? I'm paying for it."

He regretted the words almost as quickly as they came out of his mouth. Rachel's back stiffened and the tell-tale wash of color filtering into her cheeks told him before she spoke that he'd managed to offend her—again.

"I don't need your charity, pretty boy."

"It's not charity, Rachel."

"Yeah, well, whatever you call it, I don't need it."

Grimacing, he watched as she jammed the sweater dress back onto the rack and stalked away. Zack stifled a frustrated growl and grabbed the abandoned dress before running after her, catching her arm to stop her. "How did that offend you?" he asked, careful to keep his voice down.

Her eyes were bright, scathing, as she slowly lifted her chin to glare at him. "I've taken care of myself for years. I don't need some hunter to come along and think that he can toss around a few bucks to make me forget that there really isn't anyone else I can depend on. Just step off, Zack the Hunter. I don't need you or your sympathy."

"I'd hardly call it sympathy, Rachel. You make it damn near impossible to feel sorry for you."

Her only reply was the slightest narrowing of her eyes.

"Look, let's go pay for this so we can get moving, okay?"

She arched her eyebrows meaningfully but refused to speak. Heaving a frustrated sigh, Zack pulled her along toward the cash register.

"Let go," she grumbled as he stopped behind a few women standing in line at the only open cash register.

"Why?"

She made a face. "I need to use the bathroom."

He sighed again. On the one hand, he wasn't entirely sure he could trust her. On the other, she'd very likely make a scene if he didn't let her go. "You'll come right back?" he asked slowly.

"I'll think about it," she shot back.

"Rachel . . ."

"You really want to cause a scene about my going to the bathroom?"

He shook his head. "I'll trust you," he finally allowed. "Don't make me regret it."

Her answer was an insincere smile as he let go of her arm. He watched her walk away, disappearing in the aisles of merchandise until loud throat clearing behind him caught his attention. He was holding up the line.

_`I think that was a mistake.'_

Zack didn't reply as he handed over the dress and paid for it with cash. Following Rachel's lingering trail to the bathrooms, he sat on the bench to wait and sighed as he checked his watched with a scowl.

Two young women hurried past, murmuring to each other as they pushed into the bathroom. Zack' scowl darkened, and he tapped his foot impatiently.

Leaning forward, dangling the bag between his knees as he waited until well after the two women he'd seen go into the bathroom came out again.

He sighed, gaze darkening menacingly. `Damn it . . .'

Before he could consider his actions, Zack shot to his feet. Two steps separated him from the women's bathroom. Stretching out his arm straight, he smacked the door open. It hit the white tile wall with a resounding thud that echoed in the otherwise empty room. Repeating the process at each of the five metal doors only verified what his nose already told him, and when he got to the last stall, he sighed, shaking his head, staring incredulously at the wide open frosted glass window. While it wasn't a big window, he figured it really didn't have to be. As scrawny as Rachel was, she could have easily slipped out of it.

`Damn it, damn it, damn it,' he growled, stomping out of the bathroom and garnering disgusted looks from a few women who were walking into the bathroom as he was leaving. "Sorry," he muttered, cheeks pinking as he stormed past them. One said something in reply that Zack didn't catch. Knowing Rachel, she had decided that it was as good a time as any to escape.

Running through the store as he berated himself for letting her go off by herself, Zack growled as the automatic doors slowed him down. Squeezing between the still-opening doors, he scanned the street when he reached the sidewalk, sniffing the air in the hope that she hadn't gotten that far.

_`When I find her_,' he fumed, catching the vaguest hint of her unmistakable scent on the shifting wind and setting off at a dead sprint, `I swear to God I'm going to handcuff her. I don't care how much she pouts, damn it . . .'

Racing down the alley, he let his senses guide him. He didn't really see the slight alcove to the left. So intent on finding Rachel that he didn't slow his gait at all, he was brought up short by a voice off to the side as he sprinted past.

"Going somewhere?"

"What the hell are you doing?" he barked, sliding to a halt as he rounded on the girl.

She uncrossed her legs and stood up slowly, smoothing the short black skirt over her thighs as she reshouldered her bag and sauntered over to him. "Just waiting for you," she quipped lightly.

Digging into his inner breast pocket with one hand as he locked his other around her wrist, he jerked her slightly to bring her closer as he tugged the handcuffs loose. Her eyes flared wide as she blinked at the contraption. She tried to step back, but couldn't escape.

"You can't put those on me!" she gasped, shaking her head, turning imploring blue eyes up to meet his angry gaze.

"You wanna bet?" he growled, flicking his wrist to open the cuff.

"I never take a bet when I don't like the odds."

"So you're not completely stupid."

She winced as he snapped the first cuff around her imprisoned wrist. "Zack?"

"Quiet."

"But—"

"That means that you're supposed to shut up."

"But—"

"You're not shutting up."

"I wanted to tell you something—"

"Shutting up would mean that you're supposed to stop talking, wench."

"Wench?"

"Yeah, wench. Give me your other hand."

She snorted indelicately, making no bones about the idea that she wasn't about to hold out her hand to let him snap the other cuff onto her.

"Now."

"As if! And since you're so busy being a jerk, then what do I care if your shoe is untied?"

"What?" he echoed, shaking his head as he glanced up from the unlocked handcuff.

She rolled her eyes. "Your shoe is untied, Zack the Hunter."

It was an automatic reaction, he figured. Glancing down at his feet, it took a moment for his mind to grasp that his shoes were most certainly not untied since he'd worn boots instead. The moment was all that Rachel needed. Whipping around so quickly that he barely had time to react, she jerked her hand free and vaulted onto the building, wasting no time at all in taking off over the rooftop.

`Damn it!' he growled as he leapt after her. He couldn't believe he'd fallen for such a stupid ploy as that. She was fast—almost too fast. Dropping off the far side of the building, Rachel didn't look back as she broke for the cover of the park.

`I don't think so,' he thought grimly. Pushing off near the edge of the roof, he landed on the asphalt in the middle of the street and sprinted after the irrational human.

Weaving in and out of the trees, Zack slowly closed in on her. Close enough to hear her harsh breathing, he closed the distance between them. She darted into the shadows created by the network of tree branches high overhead. She was wearing heels, he noted absently. How the hell much faster would she have been if she weren't? He grimaced. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer to that . . .

She veered off to the left again, running deeper into the cover of the trees. If she kept it up, she just might be able to elude him, but every second that passed only served to irritate him that much more.

_`Come on, Zack! Don't let that scrawny little girl get the better of you!'_

`Don't you think . . . I'm trying to catch her?' he grunted as he sped up a little more.

She broke through the trees and stopped abruptly. The rattle of a chain link fence echoed through Zack' ears. The fence had been unremarkable in the blur of motion. Rachel must not have realized that there was something to thwart her escape. She crouched to spring over the fence as Zack lunged at her. Catching her around the waist, he grimaced as his weight carried them both against the fence before springing back and falling to the ground.

She landed on top of him, her elbows sinking into his stomach as the air rushed out of his lungs. It was pure instinct that kept his arms locked around her, and when she started to struggle, he stilled her with a harsh growl.

"Let go, you damned oaf!" she hollered then squealed when Zack' arms tightened around her.

He didn't answer right away, taking a moment to regain his breath as well as the rapidly dwindling control over his soaring temper.

"I mean it! Let go!"

"Knock it off, Rachel," he finally bit out, jaw clenched tight as she renewed her squirming attempt to escape.

"You're such a jerk!" she yelled, pushing against his chest, which only made him tighten his grip a little more. "Let go, let go, let go!"

"I'm a jerk? You're trying to run away, and you expect me to let you?"

"You're hurting me!"

Zack rolled his eyes and snorted. "Right. You think I don't know my own strength? I'm not hurting you, so knock it off, will you?"

Rachel wrinkled her nose and scowled petulantly. "I don't like you."

"The feeling's mutual."

"You're an ass."

"And you're a brat."

"Let me go!"

"Over my dead body."

"That could be arranged."

He narrowed his gaze. "Just bring it."

She tried to lean away again. "I hate you."

Zack sighed but held her firmly. "Give up, Rachel. You're not getting away."

She didn't reply, but the mulish set to her mouth told him that she was far from finished in her plight to escape.

"Are you going to tell me just what crawled up your ass to make you decide to run away?"

She wiggled enough to pull her hand out from between their bodies and took her time regarding her claws with a bored affectation.

"I could lie here all day," he goaded, giving her a little squeeze to remind her that if he did, she would be, too.

"I have money," she grumbled as color stole into her cheeks. "I don't want anything from you—no clothes, no food . . . nothing."

He shook his head, scowling at the stubborn girl who refused to meet his gaze. "Is that what this is all about? You're mad because I wanted to buy you a few dresses?"

Her eyes were bright with obvious irritation, indignation that he would dare overstep his bounds with her, he supposed. "I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I've taken care of myself for years, you know. Why don't you just go back to wherever you came from and leave me alone?"

"I'd love to," he ground out. "I'm here to do a job. It's nothing personal, Rachel; just a job."

Rachel paused for a moment, her gaze darkening with a strange sort of melancholy. It was masked as quickly as it had appeared, and she relaxed, as though all the anger she'd been harboring had suddenly evaporated. "I didn't think there was anything else to it," she whispered.

`_Does she have to look so sad?'_ he thought with an inward grimace. Sensing that she was done trying to escape, at least for now, Zack let his arms go slack though it was another moment before Rachel realized it and sat up.

He sat up too, staring at the handcuff that dangled from her limp wrist, and sighed. "If you swear that you won't try to escape, I'll take that off you."

"Not try to escape? For how long?"

Zack shook his head. "Until after you talk to Gray."

She shot him a quizzical glance that melted into a rather sad smile as she looked away, raising her gaze to the sky. "I can't promise that."

"It's all or nothing, Rachel. I can't let you run off whenever you feel like it."

She thought that over and sighed. "How about if I just promise not to try to escape for the rest of the day?"

Zack nearly smiled as he slowly got to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. "I'll think about it."

Rachel rolled her eyes but let him take her hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**I really wish that more people were in this fandom. I'll keep updating and posting to help spread some awareness. Only about 34 stories in English, ya'll. We need more! **

**Anywho, here's another chapter and I hope ya'll enjoy.**

"What are you reading?"

Zack sighed but didn't even glance up from the manila folder open in his hands. "Something."

"Obvious, but still not a real answer."

"Something that's none of your business."

"Grumpy, aren't we, Mr. Hunter-Pants?"

That earned Rachel a scathing glance before Zack returned his attention to the file once more.

"What's it about?"

"Research."

She blinked and sat up straighter, leaning forward from her perch on the end of the bed as she sat up and tried to see over the top of the folder. "Intriguing . . . so what are we researching?"

"We?" he echoed pointedly.

"Yes, `we'."

"I could have sworn I just told ya, it's none of yer business."

"Incidentals, Zack." A sudden thought dawned on her, and she sat back, mouth rounding in a knowing `oh'. "I see . . . it's me, isn't it? Let me see!"

"I don't think—"

"Hand it over," she demanded, wiggling her fingers as she held out her hand.

"It's not about—"

"So you say; so you say . . . what else would you be researching, if not me?"

"Would you stop being a pain in my—?"

She hopped up and snatched the file out of his hands before retreating to the sanctuary of the bed as he growled in frustration and slowly stood up to retrieve the pilfered document.

"Give it back, Rachel—what is yer last name anyway?"

She made a face and held out her hand to stave him back as she kept reading. "Mine? Gardner . . . `Age: unknown; rumored to be very young'." She shifted her eyes toward the ceiling with a thoughtful scowl as she tapped the edge of the file against her chin. "Whoever does your research really sucks."

"So how old are ya?" he countered, crossing his arms over his chest, figuring that maybe he should see if he could get any of the answers out of her since she was obviously in the mood to chat.

"How old are you, hunter?"

Zack snorted. "If I tell you how old I am, will you tell me how old you are?"

"I don't know . . . will you show me yours after that?"

"What?"

The catty grin resurfaced. "I'll think about it."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm twenty-five."

She seemed genuinely surprised at that. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why. "Really? I'd have said younger."

He wrinkled his nose. He figured it would have to be something like that. "Okay, now how old are you?"

"Twenty."

He couldn't quite keep his eyebrows from shooting up at her nonchalant statement. "You're twenty?"

She peered up at him with a scowl and slowly nodded. "Yes, twenty . . . at least, I think I'm twenty . . ." She shook her head and waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, I'm sure I'm twenty—pretty much."

Zack blinked and shook his head. "You think you're twenty?"

A barely discernible blush crept up her cheeks as Rachel bit her lip and shrugged in a nonchalant manner. "Yeah, I think so . . . why?"

"You mean ya don't know?"

"Does it matter? Age is irrelevant, don't you think?"

He shook his head again, sinking down onto the edge of the bed and gently catching her arm, forcing her to meet his gaze. "How could you not know how old you are?"

A momentary flicker of something . . . sadness? Regret? Fear? It was gone too quickly to discern, and Rachel shrugged again. "No one really told me . . . at least that I can remember."

"Your mother or father—"

"Dead."

"Sisters or brothers?"

"None."

". . . Aunts or uncles . . .?"

"Get it through your thick head, hunter: when I said there was no one, I mean just that, all right?"

"Everyone has someone."

"No, they really don't."

"Rachel . . ."

She grimaced and dropped the file, swinging her legs off the bed as she abruptly pulled away and shot to her feet. "Don't do that to me, Zack the Hunter. Don't you dare look at me with pity in your eyes."

Zack let his hand drop to the coverlet and sighed, turning his face away as color stole into his cheeks. "It's not . . . I don't pity you."

Rachel uttered a sound suspiciously like a frustrated growl, back stiff and proud as she deliberately strode across the room and sloshed ice water into a glass on the table. "I take care of myself, hunter. I don't need a mommy or a daddy to tuck me in at night. I don't need . . . I don't need anyone."

"Is that why you killed him? Raiden Delgado? Because you didn't need him?"

She whipped around, her eyes sparkling dangerously as her pupils narrowed to tiny slits. `Cat eyes,' he thought absently, refusing to look away as her skin blossomed in indignant color; as her aura crackled with the sudden surge of anger.

"You don't know a damn thing about Delgado, do you? You don't know what a sick bastard he was . . . you have no idea what he was capable of."

Zack stood slowly, took a step toward her as she stepped back in retreat. "Did he hurt you? Is that what you're telling me?"

She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze away, her hands shaking so badly that water sloshed over the brim of the glass, spilled over her fingers and dripped onto the floor. "No one hurts me."

"Why'd you kill him, Rachel?" he asked softly, reaching out a tentative hand to take the glass before she dropped it.

She bit out a bitter chuckle—a sound devoid of humor, as dry as the autumn leaves skittering across the barren, brown earth. "It doesn't matter. I won't make excuses."

"It might matter," he argued. "It might matter a lot."

She sighed and shook her head slowly, sadly, rubbing her bare arms as though she were cold. "I . . . I'm going to take a bath," she said quietly.

He watched her go without a word, scowling as he tried to make sense of her riddles; of the things that she refused to acknowledge. She was a paradox in motion, wasn't she? A walking mystery that eluded his reason.

_`Just who is she?'_

Wincing when his cell phone rang, Zack snatched the black leather duster to rifle through the pockets for the digital device. "Hello?"

"Zack? How's it going?"

Letting out a deep breath at the sound of Gray's voice Zack dropped into a chair and rubbed his temple with a weary hand. "It's fine."

"You sound . . . odd."

"Yeah, well . . ."

"Have you had any luck in getting any answers out of her?"

Zack rubbed a little harder. "Nothing that makes any sense."

"I see."

Shaking his head since he saw no way around telling Gray exactly what Rachel had told him, he heaved a sigh and leaned to the side to make sure that the bathroom door was still closed. "She talks in riddles. She says she killed Delgado, but . . ."

"But you don't think so?"

"No, I believe her. I just think that there's more to it that she isn't saying."

Gray was quiet for a moment. "Do you think she'll tell you?"

"I don't know. She doesn't trust anyone, especially me."

"Can you get her to trust you?"

Zack sighed. "I can try."

"Zack . . . there's more to it than just trying. This girl . . . If she did kill Delgado—if she did have a solid reason . . . I have to know."

"Understood," he replied. "Look, I have to go. She's taking a bath, but I'm not sure how long she'll be in there."

"All right," Gray agreed. "Keep in touch, will you?"

Zack stared at the cell phone long after his father had hung up.

A dull pounding erupted behind Zack' eyes, and he furiously rubbed them, trying to dispel the throb before it escalated into a full-blown headache.

Rachel's secrets . . .

He heaved a sigh, dropping his cell phone onto the table and leaning forward to cradle his temples in his fingertips. The image of her very real upset when he'd broached the subject of her family flashed through his mind, and he grimaced.

He knew about secrets. When he was first sent to live with Gray, he had been on the run. Gray had a knack for finding people like himself who loved to kill and that society just couldn't seem to accept. The bandages that wrapped around most of his body made it hard to stay undercover but Gray had still taken in him.

It wasn't long before Gray had moved them to America to start over. He had slowly taught Zack how to read, and write. He was paid now to kill and it took the edge off when he needed it. All in all, he was older and a hell of a lot calmer than he was ten years ago.

But he still had no idea how to get Rachel Gardner to talk.

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

_`If you were smart, you'd get the hell away from him before he gets to you more than you've already let him.'_

Rachel slouched lower in the cramped little tub and stretched out her toes to catch the handle of the hot water tap to shut it off. `I haven't let him get to me . . . he's just a pretty boy.' Arguing with herself wasn't exactly how she had planned for her day to go but it was the only way she could make sense of what was now her life.

`_Seriously? Come on, Rachel. He's older than you are.'_

`Biologically, maybe, and I thought you agreed with me that age is irrelevant.'

_`Be reasonable, will you? Whether you want to believe it or not, that man's dangerous.'_

`He wouldn't hurt a fly. He's no hunter.'

_`So you'd like to think. He must have the credentials.' _

`Get a grip. It's not like I'm planning on running off with Zack the Hunter. I'm just trying to get to New York City—you should remember. It was your idea, wasn't it?'

`_That was before_,' her conscience maintained stubbornly as Rachel worked up a lather on a snowy white washcloth.

`Before what?'

_`You can't tell me you don't sense it. If you try, you'll be lying.'_

`Dunno what you're talking about,' she grumbled, taking her time as she washed her arms, her shoulders.

_`He's familiar.'_

`Now who's being stupid? I think I'd have remembered if I'd met him before, don't you?'

_`It has nothing to do with meeting him before, Ray. This is different—entirely different.'_

`He's harmless. I'm just with him to get to New York City; that's all. Now shut up, will you? You're giving me a headache.'

_`All right, fine. Answer one question, and I swear I'll shut up for the rest of the night.'_

`. . . Okay.'

`_If I'm so stupid . . . if I'm wrong . . . why are you telling him things?'_

`I haven't told him anything important.'

`_You've told him more than you've told anyone. In a couple of days, he knows you better than anyone else has since R—"_

`You've had your question,' she cut in, flopping back in the tub and submersing herself in the water to rinse the shampoo from her hair.

Her conscience sighed but grew quiet, and Rachel pushed herself back up, setting against the back of the tub and slowly letting her eyes drift closed. It was nice, she had to admit. Feeling safe enough to take a long, relaxing bath was nice. How long had it been since she'd felt that way? She grimaced and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment before letting a soft sigh escape in the steam-fogged air. `Maybe I'm better off, not answering that.'

`_Rachel?'_

Popping one eye open, as if she were looking for the owner of the voice only she could hear, Rachel wrinkled her nose and braced herself for whatever her inner voice was going to say. `What?'

`_He's got really pretty eyes, doesn't he?'_

Sinking a little lower in the tub, letting the vanilla scented bubbles cover her chin, Rachel stared at the tile wall without actually seeing it. No, what she saw were a pair of brilliant two colored eyes touched with a softness, tinged with unmistakable curiosity . . . a little shiver ran down her spine, and she rubbed her arms as gooseflesh broke out over her skin.

Shaken out of her reverie by the faint sound of someone knocking on the hotel room door, Rachel frowned and sat up, reaching for a towel to dry her face and arms as she slowly stood up.

She wrapped one of the towels around her body, tucking in the end to secure it, but grimaced as she turned to eye the clothes she'd just taken off. Both of her outfits were dirty. She normally just settled for baths—clothes and all in the pond at the park near the derelict building she called home—with whatever soap she'd managed to procure at the time. She washed herself and her clothing all at once, and while it wasn't really preferable, it was the only real alternative she had. Now the very thought of putting her clothes back on wasn't one she liked. While she could wash them out in the tub and wear them till they dried, she'd never been fond of trying to sleep in wet clothing, and she had a feeling that Zack the Hunter would complain about that, anyway.

Rachel sighed, digging her change of clothes out of her purse before kneeling beside the tub and dumping her clothes into the still-warm water.

It didn't take long to scrub the two skirts, two shirts, and two pairs of panties she owned. Standing on her tiptoes, she hung the garments over the shower curtain rod and readjusted the towel. It really couldn't be helped, could it? Surely he'd understand . . .

_`Oh, sure he will, Ray. Never mind that you had to go and act like a baby when he tried to get you to pick out more clothes earlier.'_

`It was the principle,' she maintained as she wiped off the cloudy mirror with a hand towel before leaning her head to the side to run her fingers through her hair since she didn't have a brush, either. `I don't want him to buy me things.'

_`Don't be so proud, Rachel. He wasn't trying to offend you.'_

`I thought you said you weren't going to talk the rest of the night?'

_`Yes, well . . . and another thing . . . do you really think that wearing just a towel is a good idea?'_

`What's wrong with the towel? It covers everything, doesn't it?'

`_Sure, but the implications'_

`I could go out there naked . . .'

`_The towel's fine.'_

Rachel grinned as she opened the door.

Zack was standing at the window, holding the sheer curtain aside as he stared out at the night sky. The glow from the lamp on the nightstand cast him in a golden hue. Staring at his back, she smiled just a little, enjoying the moment of peace that would shatter the second either of them opened their mouths to speak. Not for the first time, the thought came to her, `_If I'd met him in another lifetime, things might have been so much different_ . . .' Why did the thought make her feel so sad, so hopeless . . . so lonely?

"I didn't know what you wanted, so I just ordered us the same things," he said quietly without turning to look at her.

She glanced at the table and stared, swallowing hard as she took in the tall, frothy glass of milk standing beside what had to be her plate since the other glass was filled with soda. For some reason, that he had remembered something as basic as her affinity for milk . . . it scared the hell out of her.

Deliberately ignoring the food, Rachel sat on the foot of the bed, tucking her hands under her thighs as she scrunched up her shoulders and gathered her waning bravado. "I'm not hungry," she lied, tugging her hands free to wrap her arms over her stomach to staunch the rumbling inspired by the enticing aroma of the food.

"Oh, hell, Rachel, do ya have to turn everything into a battle of wills?" he growled as he pushed himself away from the window and strode toward the table, hands jammed in his pockets as he stared at the floor. "I'm not yer enemy, damn it."

"I beg to differ," she retorted stiffly.

Zack stopped and looked up, eyes bright, flashing, angry. They lit on her and flared wide as his mouth dropped open, as color shot into his cheeks. "I—you—wha—Where the hell are your clothes?" he bellowed, waving his hands in her direction.

She smiled sweetly, oddly calm in the face of Zack' tirade. "They're wet," she stated simply.

"They're . . .? What the hell did you do? Throw them in the tub?"

She crossed her knees and wrapped her hands around them. "No, silly . . . I washed them."

"Washed . . .?" Snapping his mouth closed tight, he looked like he was fighting for control of his soaring temper. He strode over to his bag, yanked the zipper open, and flung the first thing he laid hands on—a maroon colored tee-shirt—at her. "Wear that."

She wrinkled her nose as she made a show of holding the shirt up and inspecting it carefully. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Hmm, yeah, well, this isn't negotiable, Rachel. Put it on. Now."

"If it's all the same to you, I don't think we know each other well enough to start smelling like a couple. You'll understand, I'm sure."

"What I understand is that you're obviously devil-spawn. Now get the fucking shirt on, Rachel. I'm not joking."

She tossed the shirt aside and slowly stood up, arching her back as she reached above her head to stretch. Zack's loud gasp echoed in her head, and she quickly turned away to hide her amusement. "Relax, hunter. My clothes will be dry in an hour or two. I'll get dressed when they are."

He didn't respond. Daring a peek over her shoulder, she couldn't help but grin at the completely dumbstruck look on his face. If he realized he was gaping at her, she wasn't certain. Pulling her hair over her shoulder as she turned to face him again, she ran her fingers through the length of it. "What's the matter, hunter? Cat got your tongue?"

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. He didn't make a sound.

Giggling softly, she sauntered toward him. His eyes flared a little wider, but he didn't move away. So close that she could feel the raw heat radiating from his body, she slipped her hands between them, kneading the muscles hidden by the fabric of his shirt as she gazed up at him, issuing him a silent challenge. "You look a little shocked, Zack the Hunter. Is something wrong?"

He swallowed hard once, twice, blinking rapidly as he fought for a semblance of his composure. "R-Rachel . . ."

"Yes?"

He closed his eyes against the husky quality in her reply. "Put the shirt on."

"Scared of the little human?"

"Just . . . do it."

Arching her eyebrows, she stepped back. "If you say so," she countered, bringing her hand up to toy with the edge of the towel. "Are you sure?"

He finally realized what she was threatening. Closing the distance between them in one long stride, his hand shot out to stay hers, and he stifled a low growl. "Damn it . . ."

"What's the matter? Haven't you ever seen a naked woman before?"

Violent color blossomed in his cheeks. He jerked her hand away from the towel, gaze burning her as she bravely—or was it stupidly—stubbornly stood her ground. "What do you want, Rachel?"

"What makes you think I want something?"

He narrowed his eyes and snorted. "Last I checked you could barely tolerate me. That would mean that all of this is just an act, so why don't you forego the dramatics and just tell me what it is you're after?"

"I tolerate you, hunter," she said, letting her eyes travel up and down his chest. "My clothes were dirty, so I washed them. That's all. Now aren't you ashamed? You really are a dog, aren't you? Did you think that I made up the story about my clothes just so I could parade around in front of you in a towel?"

He let go of her hand and stomped over to the table. "Whatever."

She laughed. "Rest assured, Zack the Hunter . . . if I wanted to flash you, I wouldn't make up a lame story like that. I'd just do it."

"Eat your food before it gets cold," he grumbled.

Rachel retreated to her perch on the end of the bed once more, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of having beaten the hunter in a battle of wits. `The game's on, hunter. . .' she thought with a grin.


	7. Chapter 7

**Back at it again! Thanks for everyone who read and let me know that they enjoy this story. **

**Enjoy!**

"I seriously think you need to get laid."

Zack stopped short and swiveled his head to glower at Rachel. Unsure if her completely nonchalant attitude bothered him more than the current subject that she refused to drop, he slowly shook his head and ignored the urge to tell her to shut the hell up.

"This is a waste of money."

"Just pick one, and let's go," he growled.

Wrinkling her nose at the array of winter coats, Rachel shook her head and shrugged. "I don't need one, thanks."

Zack sighed and rubbed his cheek, counting to twenty in an effort to keep control over his temper. "You might not now, but you will soon enough. Pick one, or I swear to God I will, and if I do, then I doubt you'll like it. You'll wear it, even if I have to put it on you, myself, but you won't like it."

"Awfully good at tossing around the threats, aren't you, hunter?"

"Humor me."

Her hand dropped away from the rack of coats as she slowly turned to eye him. Arms crossed over his chest, he blanked his features as he stared over the women's department without meeting Rachel's gaze. "You've been in a bad mood since this morning," she remarked, her lips twitching as a little smirk formed.

"Yeah, that tends to happen when I wake up with someone staring me down," he growled.

Rachel laughed before turning her attention back to the coats once more.

He couldn't understand her; not one damn thing about her. Most of the time, she acted like she couldn't stand him; as though she thought he was stupid. The rest of the time? He straightened his back and told himself that she was trying to irritate him and that reacting wouldn't do him any good.

The rest of the time, she confused the hell out of him.

He'd fallen asleep in a chair after sitting up half the night, wondering if he was being foolish to leave her out of the handcuffs. Waking up this morning with the oddest feeling that someone was staring at him, he'd opened his eyes only to find her perched on the edge of the bed, clutching the coverlet in her hands as she leaned forward, eyes trained on his face and the most curious expression on her face. If she realized that he'd opened his eyes, he wasn't certain, but she'd continued to sit there for several minutes, staring at him without blinking, her gaze curious, almost fascinated . . .

"What are you staring at?" he demanded, sitting up and pushing the thin white blanket aside. He wasn't sure where the blanket had come from. He hadn't had it before he sat down.

She snapped out of her reverie, color rising in her cheeks as she deliberately stood up, arched her back, and stretched as a wry little smirk surfaced on her features. "Don't be silly, Zack the Hunter. I was just checking to see if you were dead."

"Wishful thinking, brat," he grumbled, tossing the blanket onto the bed and just missing Rachel.

She blinked at it before shifting her gaze back to him, her eyes brightening as the smirk widened into a smile. "Do you always wake up crabby?"

"You'd be crabby, too, if you'd spent the night sitting up in that chair."

He regretted the words about the moment they were out of his mouth. Back stiffening as she snatched up the blanket and shook it out, he could tell that he'd offended her yet again, only this time, he wasn't certain how.

"Hurry it up, will you?" he growled, shaking off the memory as the store came back into focus again.

"What's the rush?" she countered, pushing hangers back and forth but not bothering to pull any of the coats off the rack.

Zack sighed. "We were supposed to be on the road two days ago, Rachel, that's what."

"Oh, that? Incidentals, don't you think?"

"No, I don't think."

Her answer was a mocking stare, her eyebrows arched as an impish smile taunted him. "You said a mouthful."

"I don't feel like arguing with you. Just pick a coat, okay?"

"I don't like them," she complained, stepping away from the rack and slowly shaking her head.

Zack regarded Rachel for several long seconds before snatching a coat off the rack, grabbing her hand, and dragging her toward the cash register. "Good enough."

"But—"

"You weren't picking one, and I warned you."

"Will you—?"

"Nope."

She heaved a sigh. "Really need to get laid," she mumbled.

"Listen—" he cut in, cheeks flaming.

"Are you always such a grouch?"

"Just when people piss me off."

She ran around him, planting her hands in the center of his chest as she positively beamed up at him. "Hmm?"

He swallowed hard, all too aware of just how beautiful the elusive woman really was. Blue eyes glowing as she gazed at him, she smiled at him, cheeks kissed with a soft pink flush, she laughed softly before leaning up on her toes to lick his cheek. "R-Rachel . . ."

She giggled, cupping his cheek in her free hand. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat and knocked her hand away. "Come on."

"I thought hunters were playful," she pointed out with a melodramatic shake of her head.

"Maybe they are," he grumbled, slapping the coat onto the counter. "Too bad I'm not one."

"You're not? Are you sure?"

"Seventy-five dollars and thirty-nine cents."

"That's highway robbery," Rachel informed him indignantly.

"Shut up, Rachel."

Zack sighed, rolling his eyes as he dug a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and dropped it on the counter. Swiping up the bag without waiting for his change or for the receipt, he grabbed Rachel's hand again and hustled her toward the exit.

"You didn't wait for your change," she pointed out.

"Acceptable loss."

"Are you so rich you can toss money around like it's nothing?"

"I don't think it's nothing," he said with a weary sigh. "I just didn't feel like standing around, waiting for you to say something else completely outrageous."

"I don't like that coat," she told him, her eyes darkening as she slowly shook her head.

"At this point, I don't really give a rat's ass, what you like and don't like."

"You're really not very nice, are you?"

Zack pulled her into a small drug store and jerked his head toward the hygiene products. "Need anything? Deodorant . . . toothbrush . . . whatever?"

She opened her mouth, probably to tell him that she didn't want or need a single thing from him, but she stopped, a perplexed look on her face, as if she were trying to decide if she weren't biting off her nose to spite her face. "I have money of my own," she said grudgingly. "I'll buy my own toothpaste . . . and I don't need deodorant because I don't stink."

"I just bought a coat for you that cost a helluva lot more than a few measly toiletries, Rachel. Just pick out what you want, and let's go, okay?"

She smiled tightly and offered a nonchalant shrug. "I'll buy my own things."

Rubbing his forehead, he nodded. "Fine. Whatever. Just move it."

She shot him a glower before turning on her heel and stalking away, back straight and proud, the cloak of thick blonde hair cascading down her back as she moved, her body projecting an easy grace, a sense of subtle refinement. Zack watched her for a moment, the barest trace of a smile breaking over his features as he watched her haughty retreat. What was it about her that set him on edge? More than her penchant for saying things that could only be construed as intentionally outrageous, there was something about Rachel that spoke to him without the need for words. She seemed to calm the inner monster more than Gray ever could.

When she wasn't saying outlandish things...

Zack wrinkled his nose and tried not to blush as he looked around to find Rachel. She grinned, sauntering toward him, and as she approached, he noticed two things. Firstly, she hadn't picked out anything that she might need for the trip. Secondly, she held a slip of paper in between her first and middle fingers. Narrowing his gaze on the suspect paper, he wasn't sure he wanted to know just what so obviously amused her now.

"How much do you love me, Zack the Hunter?" she gushed as she linked her arm through his.

"What did you do?" he asked, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut that told him that he was better off not asking that particular question.

She grinned, eyes shining with mischief as deep dimples dipped into her cheeks, as his heart skipped a beat. Unable to think as precious seconds ticked away, he blinked in shock, in surprise as he realized somewhere in his Rachel-clouded mind that this girl—woman—enigma . . . she was far more dangerous than he could have possibly imagined.

"See that girl?" she asked, tugging on his arm and pointing with the fingers that still held the slip of paper.

Zack slowly lifted his gaze, following the direction of Rachel's outstretched hand. A tall blonde near the wall of coolers smiled timidly at him, raising her hand to wiggle her fingers. He scowled but lifted a hand to return the greeting. The girl giggled and whispered something to her friend. Rachel tugged on Zack' arm again, and he shot her a sidelong glance. "What did you do?" he repeated, his tone cautious, almost reluctant.

She laughed. "I told you, hunter . . . you need to get laid."

He groaned.

"She looks easy enough, don't you think? Not easy in a dirty way, but, you know: loose."

The groan escalated into a low growl as disbelief gave way to irritation.

"Her name is Buffy, if you can feature that . . . Total sex-kitten, if you ask me. I wonder what her parents were thinking . . . I mean, what are the odds that she will ever find gainful employment with a name like that, right?"

"Ray," he choked, hoping, praying, that he wasn't quite as red in the face as he suspected he was.

"Anyway, I figure she's a shoo-in, so to speak . . . Not even you can mess this up, hunter."

"Absolutely not," he snarled, grabbing Rachel's arm and hustling her toward the doors.

"You should probably pick up a box of condoms," she went on, trying to turn around.

He slung an arm around her shoulders and shoved her forward. She stumbled and caught herself on his jacket, but her mood hadn't waned, and she laughed. "Don't you want it?" she asked, waving the paper under his nose as they stepped out of the store into the plaza.

He shot her his version of the `We Are Not Amused' look and snatched the paper out of her fingertips. Scowl darkening as he read what had to be a phone number with the name `Buffy' scrawled above it, he crumpled it into a tight little ball and tossed it to the side before grabbing Rachel's upper arm and shoving her toward the mall exit.

"Zack . . ."

"If you value your hide, you won't say a fucking word to me right now," Zack bit out.

She sighed. "I was just trying to help you with your little problem," she pointed out a little too reasonably.

"I mean it. . . be quiet."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Sex is an integral part of a well-balanced psyche . . ."

"And just where did you hear bullshit like that?"

"Maevis," she answered simply, giving the name of a popular talk-show host-slash-renowned sex therapist.

Zack growled and propelled Rachel toward the exit again.

"She said that if you don't have sex, a part of you just sort of shrivels up and dies . . ."

"Damn it . . ."

"Care to guess which part, hunter?"

He stopped abruptly and swung around to face her, eyes blazing as he felt his skin shoot up in flames. Grabbing her arms and giving her a quick shake, he growled again when her smile only widened. "Stop it, Rachel, I mean it! Just shut your pretty little mouth for five minutes!"

He glowered at her as her smile slowly disappeared. Blinking as she stared at him, she was speechless for once as a strange sort of brightness filtered into her eyes, and she nodded.

Pausing a moment to make sure that she'd gotten the message, he finally jerked his head in a curt nod, hands dropping away from her as he slammed open the mall doors and strode outside to the rental car.

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

Zack wasn't sure what woke him. A dull thump . . . a muffled sob . . .

Sitting up in the chair where he'd fallen asleep and pushing the thin hotel stock blanket aside, he stumbled to his feet—they were tangled in the blanket—and he blinked in confusion as he slowly shifted his gaze around the small room.

The bed was rumpled where Rachel had lain down. She wasn't there. The bathroom door stood ajar, blackness oozing from the threshold like a hideous gaping maw. He could feel her close; he knew her aura. He could smell her, sense her . . . he just couldn't see her.

Another soft sound . . . almost a whine; not quite a cry . . .

Scowling as he slowly shuffled toward the little alcove where the sinks stood outside the actual bathroom on the left, he glanced at the sliding panel doors of the closet on the right. He paused with his hands on the doorknobs and drew a deep breath.

He couldn't see anything in the darkness. The light of a single lamp left burning near the windows cast deeper shadows, and in the blackness there was nothing but emptiness; the echo of shattered breathing, the dull patter of a broken heart. Zack narrowed his eyes, tried to discern a shape in the unfathomable blackness as the sorrow of her aura scalded him; the fear, the pain, the consuming sense of loneliness . . . Rachel.

"No . . ." she whispered, her voice so soft that he had to strain to hear her. He could sense her upset as she whimpered.

Too dark, too deep, the hurt that she guarded so jealously radiated from her, wrapped around him like a silent entreaty. He could feel her movement, her body shaking somewhere in the shadows. Another soft cry made him wince, and without thinking, reacting on instinct, he lifted her into his arms, cradled her against his chest, clumsily patted her back to soothe her.

She didn't wake as she buried her face against his chest. Absently noting just now little she actually weighed, he winced as he uttered little sounds meant to comfort her. Slowly she calmed, relaxed in his arms. The frown that marred her features waned but didn't disappear completely. She looked so vulnerable, so soft, so different from the woman he had come to know. _`Who is she? Who is she really?'_

There were no answers, no whispers, no secrets. The bits and pieces that she'd told him only served to further his confusion. She spoke in riddles, answered in innuendo. Somewhere between the two lay the truth. Gray thought that Zack could get answers out of her? Zack sighed. He wasn't nearly as confident.

Standing up without waking her, he carefully carried her to the bed. She whimpered when he laid her down, automatically curling into a little ball with her chin tucked into the cradle of her crossed arms.

He pulled the blanket up to her chin and smoothed her hair back gently, kneeling beside her. Studying every angle, every curve of her face, he watched her features contort as she moaned. He stroked her cheek with his knuckles and marveled as the upset on her face faded. She seemed to scoot toward him, unconsciously seeking the acknowledgment that she wasn't alone.

She concealed so much behind her tough façade. He'd sensed that before, hadn't he? `_She's not a murderer; I know it . . . She might hide behind her pride; she might infuriate me to no end, bu_t . . .' Zack shook his head. `_It's all just an act, isn't it? Rachel—the real Rachel . . . I don't think she really is all that tough._'

He finally stood up, his fingertips lingering on her cheek before he turned back toward the chair once more. Absently dragging the blanket over himself as he flopped down and leaned back, he didn't take his eyes off Rachel for a very long time.

**Review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**And we're back! I actually found a ton of Angels of Death fanfiction on A03 but it was all smut with no story. Don't get me wrong, I love smut, but reading the same story 20 times is a little boring. I need more au's and after the anime/game/manga!**

**Review and Enjoy!**

Rachel's nails were literally embedded in the armrest mounted to the passenger side car door, and for once, the young woman was completely silent. She'd been like that the entire time since early this morning when he'd finally managed to get her out of Los Angeles. She'd tried cajoling him into getting a room when they'd stopped for lunch just after they'd crossed the border between California and Arizona.

"You okay, Ray?" he asked without taking his eyes off the road.

She didn't answer.

"Haven't you ever ridden in a car before?"

Her head jerked once: no.

"Really?"

He could feel her eyes penetrating her skull. "No."

"Not . . . ever?"

"A few times, when I was little," she replied. "Does it matter? I just don't like cars."

Zack flicked his wrist, glancing at his watch with a sigh. `Only four in the afternoon . . . damn it . . .' He shot her a quick glance. She was staring out the window, her golden skin pale under the California tan. He could only see a sliver of her face, but he couldn't mistake the absolute panic in her, either. "We can't stop yet," he told her, his tone almost apologetic. "We need to put in a few more hours of driving time."

She nodded slightly. Zack grimaced. They were closing in on gas station, and while they didn't need fuel, he knew that Rachel desperately needed the break. He pulled up beside the only empty pump and killed the engine. "Need anything?"

Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the handle. "No," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

He reached across her and grasped the latch. "No running?"

"I'll think about it," she replied though her tone lacked much of her usual candor.

Zack nodded, figuring that was probably as good as he was likely to get, and pulled the lever to open the door. Rachel stumbled out of the car, taking a moment to draw a deep breath before she squared her shoulders and slowly, deliberately, walked toward the gas station doors.

_`How can she not have traveled in a car?'_

He frowned, drumming his claws against the steering wheel for a moment before opening his door and stepping onto the asphalt. Carefully standing so that the gas fumes were carried away from him, he started refueling and turned his face to the side.

Striding over to grab a soda out of the glass cooler, he stopped and stared at the single serving sized bottles of milk lined up in a plastic rack in a cooler further down. He grabbed one and let the door slide closed with a dull thump before heading for the check out to pay for the drinks and the fuel, stopping along the way to nab a brush for Rachel and deliberately trying to keep from analyzing why he wanted to buy it for her. On impulse, he picked up two tacky little silver spoons with an enameled picture of a cactus and the word `Arizona' emblazoned over it—one for his Gray, who collected the cheesy keepsakes, and one for Rachel—before heaving a sigh and hurrying over to the checkout before he could impulse-buy anything else for the crazy girl.

Tucking his soda under the arm that held her milk, he quickly shoved the other items into his pocket. "Here," he said, tossing the milk bottle to her.

She caught it and turned it over in her hands. "What's this, hunter?"

"Let me move the car, and we can go for a short walk."

Blue eyes narrowing in suspicion, she nodded slowly as he ran around to the driver's side and got into the car. She stayed put while he moved the vehicle into one of the parking spaces beside the station. He climbed out of the car and waited as she wandered over. "Where are we going?" she asked, one brow disappearing under her thick fringe of bangs.

"Just for a walk," he told her, twisting the cap off his soda and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. "Unless I'm mistaken, and you want to get right back into the car . . ."

"I didn't say that," she said as she glided toward him, a lazy grin twitching on her lips.

Zack stared at her for a moment before stuffing his hands into his pockets and jerking his head to indicate that she should follow him.

"Where are we?" she asked, falling into step beside him as she broke the seal on the milk container.

"Arizona."

She digested that as she tipped the drink to her lips. "Well, I knew that much, hunter . . . where, exactly, in Arizona are we?"

He snorted. "Pfft! Then you should reconsider the way you word things," he informed her but chuckled. "We're about sixty miles from Tucson."

"How much further do you want to go today?"

"New Mexico." He pulled the brush out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Here."

"Why'd you buy this?"

"You were looking at it, weren't you?" he grumbled.

Rachel made a face. "So?"

"So that's why I bought it."

"I don't want it."

"Then throw it away."

"But it's brand new."

"And I have one. Do you?"

Rachel didn't reply right away. "I make do."

"Oh, for the love of—"

"I could have bought my own," she pointed out.

"Yeah, you could have, but now you don't need to."

"Does money just grow on the trees for you?"

"What?"

She walked faster. "You toss it around like there's no tomorrow. I'm not jealous, mind you. I simply think you're incredibly wasteful."

"Oh, that's rich . . . Ray, I'm not your enemy."

She stopped, her chin dropping as she drew a deep breath. "That's where you're wrong."

"Fine, fine . . . I swear I'll never buy you another brush again."

Her head snapped up, and Zack grimaced. "How much do I owe you for the milk?" she demanded.

Zack shot her a disbelieving look. "Nothing, Ray."

He could sense the return of her legendary pride. It blew in on the crisp autumn air. "But—"

Rounding on her, glowering at her misplaced show of stubborn pride, Zack shook his head, held up his hand to silence her. "Why do you have to be so damn stubborn? It's just milk; that's all."

"I refuse to owe you, Zack the Hunter. I refuse to owe a single soul."

"Look," he said, raking his hand through his hair. "My boss gave explicit instructions that I was to bring you back. He didn't say a single thing about making you go without."

Her eyes flared wide, nostrils quivering, and he could sense the rage that spiked in her aura. "Your boss? Fuck him. Fuck you both . . . I don't need a damn thing from either of you; not your pity, not your sympathy, and certainly not your milk."

"What is your problem with him? What did he ever do to you?"

"Nothing," she spat as indignant color blossomed in her cheeks. "Nothing at all."

"Really," he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest as he met her defiant glare with one of his own. "You sound like you hate the man."

"I do."

"Have you met him before?"

"Of course not!" she scoffed.

"Hmm, well, you can't very well hate someone you've never actually met."

"I can, and I do. Get over it, hunter."

She started to stomp away. Zack caught her arm and pulled her back. "Tell me why."

He didn't think she was going to answer. Eyes narrowing dangerously in an entirely feline way, she pursed her lips and shifted her gaze to the side. He loosened his grip but didn't let go. The sound of her voice—soft, silky—startled him. "I told you. He did nothing."

Zack shook his head, stifling the urge to growl at her incessant riddles. "How could you hate him if he didn't do anything?"

She finally looked back at him. Every line of her face was etched in fury. The wind whipped her hair into her face, her eyes, and she didn't blink. "It's easy. It's simple. I never said he didn't do anything. I said he did nothing. There's a huge difference."

"Hide behind your riddles, Ray, if they help you sleep at night, but then, you don't sleep at night, do you?"

"What?"

Zack snorted. "Your nightmares. I've heard them. Tell me why I found you in the closet."

She snapped her mouth closed, eyes darting away as a furious blush rose in her cheeks. "Was I?"

"Yeah, you were. Why?"

Rachel shrugged, a thin smile backed by bravado and little else gracing her lips. "Maybe I was sleepwalking."

"Maybe," he agreed. "I don't think you were. What were you hiding from?"

She rolled her eyes, uttered a terse laugh. "I don't hide, Zack the Hunter."

"God, you have got to be the most infuriating creature on earth!" he fumed, letting go of her arm and squeezing a fistful of air in his empty hand.

"Zack . . ."

"What?" he snarled.

"Your shoe is untied."

Zack erupted in a low growl. "If you think I'm going to fall for that line of shit again—"

"Whatever. You were warned."

Careening around, she darted down the road. "Damn it!" he ground out. He started to sprint after her but stumbled, catching himself before he ended up face-first in the dirt. Glancing down as he gave chase, he ground his teeth together as his face exploded in a painful blush.

Zack forced himself to run faster, stifling a groan as Rachel veered off the road and neatly vaulted over a short wire fence. He followed suite, thankful that there was nowhere for the infuriating woman to hide. Launching himself at her, he tackled her, arms locking around her as he turned just before impact so that he took the brunt of the fall.

"Let go, you stupid man!" she hollered, squirming for her freedom as she pushed against his chest.

"Oh, I will," he growled. Securing her with one arm, he dug the handcuffs from his pocket with his free hand, deftly flicking his wrist to open the gadget before slapping it around one of her slender wrists.

"No!"

"Yes," he countered, easily catching her other wrist and securing the cuff before shoving her off and sitting up to tie his shoe.

"I hate you!"

"Feeling's mutual!"

"Take these off me!"

Zack stood up and grabbed the short chain between her wrists, jerking her to her feet and dragging her back toward the road.

"Ouch!"

"Save it, Ray."

"You're an ass—a complete ass. I don't think I've ever met anyone who quite measures up to your level of assitude."

He kept walking, ignoring her tirade.

"I swear, I'm never talking to you again, you mutt!"

Zack hefted her over his shoulder and jumped over the fence. He could only hope that she was being serious for once. . .

**Shorter than usual but next one will be up soon!**


	9. Chapter 9

**We're back! I've been lost in La-La land after reading every Zack and Ray fanfiction I could find. FF doesn't have as many as A03 but there were still some good ones there. **

**Enjoy!**

"Hold out your hands."

Rachel shot Zack a glare, uttered a low, `hrumph' and turned her attention back to the television screen.

He rolled his eyes, wiggling his fingers in a gesture meant to hurry her along. "Don't be stubborn."

She lifted the remote control between her bound hands and flipped through the stations until she found something that suited her: reruns of Friends on Classic Comedy Central.

"Knock it off," he growled, kneeling before her and tugging her hands toward him.

Zack turned the tiny key and pulled the cuff away when it sprang open. Rachel jerked her hand back, cradling it against her chest as he unlocked the second restraint. Grimacing at the bluish red that ringed her slender limbs, he held onto her left hand despite her resolve to pull away. He stifled a sigh. He'd smelled her blood just after they'd entered the Lordsburg, New Mexico city limits and stopped to eat at a small diner just inside town. At least, he'd eaten. She'd refused to let anyone see her bound wrists, and had opted instead to keep her hands in her lap under the table top. The only concession she'd made was to pull her glass of milk close enough so that she could reach the straw. He'd stopped at the first decent hotel he could find after that. Rachel hadn't designed to speak a single word to him since she'd announced that she was never speaking to him again. He wasn't sure he wanted to know just why that bothered him, either.

Tiny lacerations oozed trace amounts of blood, and she sucked in a sharp breath when he gently rubbed his thumbs over the sensitive skin_. `I left them on her too long . . . I should have known she'd never tell me if they hurt her . . . Way too proud for her own damn good . _. .' Leaning in close, he licked the wounds, the coppery tinge of her blood drawing a grimace that she—thankfully—didn't see.

"Z-Zack?" she stammered, trying to jerk her hands away. He held on, concentrating instead on cleaning her wounds on a purely instinctual level. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Zack blinked and glanced up, realizing a moment too late just what he had been doing. Dropping her wrists as he sat back on his heels, he turned his face away as he fought down an agonizing blush.

Rachel alternated as she rubbed her wrists, her cheeks nearly as pink as his.

"You should have told me that they were chafing you," he grumbled under his breath.

She snorted. "I told you they hurt."

Shoving himself off the floor, he stood up and stomped over to his suitcase. "Yeah, you did, in that loud, obnoxious way that meant they really didn't hurt at all—at the time."

He could feel her eyes boring in the back of his skull as he dug through the suitcase for clean clothes.

"If you hadn't been yanking me around like some sort of rag doll—"

Shaking his head as he stared up at the ceiling, Zack drew a deep breath and tried not to lose his temper. "You were trying to run away!"

"And just what was that a minute ago?"

"What was what?"

"You were slobbering all over me!"

"That—I—You—I wasn't slobbering!"

"Oh? Then what would you call it, hunter?"

"I was cleaning your wounds!"

"Why would you do that?' she hollered, rising on the bed, standing on her knees, arms crossed over her chest.

"I haven't a clue!"

"You should!"

"Why?"

"Because you did it to me!"

Zack threw his hands up at his sides and stomped toward the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower. If you're not here when I get out, I'll find you, and I'll stick you back in those handcuffs for the rest of the trip, so help me God!"

She grabbed a throw pillow off the bed and hurled it at him just as he slammed the door. "Argh!" she bellowed. Zack sighed.

He tossed his clothes onto the counter beside the sink and locked the door, wondering why it was that he always seemed to lose every last ounce of common sense he had whenever Rachel was even remotely close.

_`You're just upset that you inadvertently hurt her.'_

Zack yanked the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, his eyes darkening as he sank down on the lid of the toilet and leaned forward, letting his face fall into his open hands. `She's making me look like a fool,' he fumed, wincing as the image of Rachel's earnest expression, as her words whispered in his mind.

"_Your shoes are untied . . ."_

No wonder she didn't ever seem like she was taking him seriously. `Hell, I wouldn't take me seriously,' he thought with a grimace. `Damn it . . .'

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

Rachel sank down on the bed, staring at her wrists with a thoughtful frown. A delicious shiver prickled up her spine at the memory of Zack' touch. She didn't understand exactly what it meant, but the languor that seeped into her very bones made her swallow hard as she pressed her wrists to her chest. `Why did he do that?'

The stillness of the hotel room was broken only by the dull hiss of the running shower, and Rachel bit the side of her bottom lip. What was it about Zack the Hunter that spoke to her in a voice so quiet and yet so very powerful at the same time?

`He's nothing . . . just the means to an end, right?'

_`Do you believe that?'_

She glanced up at the television, and made a face, retrieving the remote control and turning up the volume. `Yes, I do.'

_`He keeps you on your toes, Rachel. He does things for you. You might say you're independent and that you don't need anyone, but the fact is, you like that he takes care of you, even if it isn't a permanent thing.'_

`I don't, and he doesn't. He doesn't do anything but yell at me.'

_`Oh, and you don't do a thing to deserve that, do you?"_

`That is completely irrelevant. What I do or don't do doesn't matter. Zack is the one who bullied me into coming along with him, and . . .' she trailed off as her frown deepened as she rubbed her wrists again. `Why did he do that?'

_`I don't know. Why don't you ask him?'_

Rachel snorted and scrambled off the bed. `I think I will.'

_`Rachel . . . what are you doing?'_

Rolling her eyes as she strode toward the closed bathroom door, she finally broke into a smile. `Like you said, I'm going to ask him,' she thought as she jiggled the doorknob. `Locked . . . smart hunter. . .'

_`I meant after he comes back out.'_

`Procrastination is the root of all evil.'

Kneeling down, she cocked her head to the side and licked her lips as she examined the lock. It was a simple hole in the middle of the knob—standard, if not somewhat cheap. One strategic poke later, and the knob twisted easily enough. `Score one for the "child". . .'

_`Your inability to wait is going to be the death of us.'_

`If you didn't want me to go in, then you shouldn't have told me to ask him.'

Her inner voice only heaved a sigh as she deftly turned the knob and strolled into the bathroom. "Zack, I was wondering—"

"Ah!" he hollered, "Rachel!"

She giggled. "Something the matter, hunter?"

"Get out!"

"In a minute."

He erupted in a menacing growl. "Will you get out of here?"

"I will; I will . . . Let me ask you a question first."

"You can ask me after I get done in here," he snarled.

Rachel heaved a melodramatic sigh and jerked the shower curtain aside. "Tell me—oh my . . ." Eyes rounding in wonder as her smile brightened, she stared at Zack' very naked, very wet backside. Glancing over his shoulder, face a deep shade of crimson, he turned away from her a little more as he dropped the bar of soap and glowered at her, slapping the only thing available—the cheap, thin hotel washcloth—-over his crotch, which was amusing since she couldn't see that side of him at all. Hair plastered to his head, the tangled strands made his eyes appear to glow brighter, fiercer. Muscles rippled under his skin . . . Wide shoulders tapered to a narrow waist . . . She couldn't help but gape at the cute little indentations just above his buttocks, and without a second thought, she reached out, giving one of his cheeks a firm squeeze.

He jerked away with a hiss, slamming against the wall. "Rachel!" he snapped. "Get out of here!"

Uttering a shaky laugh, she forced her eyes to meet his. "You should walk around bare-assed more often," she goaded.

Zack blushed a little darker and reached back to yank the shower curtain closed. "Shut up."

Rachel pushed the curtain out of the way again. Zack caught it and tried to pull it closed once more. A moment later, the curtain gave with a loud ripping sound. Zack spared a moment to glare at Rachel before stretching to nab the towel hanging over the rack.

"Need some help, Zack the Hunter?" she offered innocently.

He fumbled with the towel, trying to wrap it around his hips without allowing her any more of a view than she was already getting. "Damn it, Rachel! Get the hell out, will you?"

"Not until I ask you—"

"Now!" he bellowed.

Rachel started to reach out to touch his chest as he tucked the end of the towel in. "Oh, calm down! You shouldn't be ashamed of your body."

"I'm not ashamed of my body," he grumbled, shoving her hand away from his chest as he shut off the water and glared at her.

"You absolutely should consider running around without your clothes more often."

"Get the hell out of here, Rachel, or I'll—"

"Get out?" she repeated with an innocent blink.

"Yes, damn it!" he snarled.

She broke into an enigmatic little grin. "If you say so, hunter . . . It's been a real slice."

Turning on her heel, she sauntered out of the bathroom, grabbing her purse off the end of the bed as she walked past, pausing long enough to slip on her stilettos before heading for the door.

_`That was low, even for you, Ray.'_

`He's the one who said that he wanted me to get out.'

_`Getting out of the bathroom is one thing . . . he didn't mean for you to leave.'_

`Then he should be more careful when choosing his words, don't you think?'

_`Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you . . .'_

`Yeah, yeah . . . hush, will you?' She grasped the doorknob and turned. `Free as a bird . . .

The hand that flashed past her head to slam the door made her gasp out loud as the doorknob slipped from her grip. Moments later, the rough jerk on her arm that brought her around and flush against a damp, hard body forced the breath out of her as she stared, transfixed, into the golden eyes ablaze with irritation. He gripped her biceps in his hands, tightly enough to keep her from bolting, but not nearly tight enough to hurt her. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, so loudly that she wondered vaguely whether or not he could hear it, too. "Fancy meeting you here, hunter . . . Anything I can do for you?"

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he growled, jaws clenched so tightly that his cheeks bulged just a little.

She flashed him a grin full of more bravado than she was feeling and shrugged. "You told me to get out, remember?"

"You knew what I meant."

"Then you should reconsider the way you word things," she said, using his words against him.

"Don't play with me, Rachel."

"You might like it, hunter."

"Damn it—"

Swallowing hard as she lifted her hand, running her index finger down the shallow vale in the center of his chest, she cleared her throat before she could find her voice. "You're still all wet, Zack the Hunter. If you don't dry off, you're going to catch a . . . cold."

He shook his head, eyes never leaving her face as his nostrils flared, as his eyes burned brighter.

"I could help you," she offered. Leaning toward him, pressing her hands against his damp skin, she flicked out her tongue, caught a droplet of water that was running down his chest. He gasped and jerked back but didn't relinquish his hold on her. She stepped forward and repeated the process again—more daringly this time; her tongue raking against his flesh. He uttered a ragged groan, closing his eyes for a moment before tightening his grip. Fingers digging into her arms, he didn't seem to notice, and Rachel wasn't inclined to mention it, either. The heat in his stare burned her, and this time, Rachel was the one who couldn't look away. She cleared her throat and pressed her lips together as he simply stared at her.

"D-don't . . . do that . . ."

"Don't do what?"

He grimaced, swallowing hard. "Don't . . . lick . . . me."

"Why not?"

"It's . . . it's . . . unsanitary."

She giggled. "No more unsanitary than you licking my wounds earlier."

He blinked as the florid blush deepened. "Rachel . . ."

Slipping her arms around his neck, she stood on tiptoe, pulling his head down, her lips lingering so close to his that she could feel the moist heat of his breath. "Yes?"

Water dripped from his hair like rain on her cheeks. He stared at her, his expression an odd mix of hesitant fascination and unmistakable distrust. The conflicting emotions lent a brightness to his gaze that intensified as she licked away a droplet of moisture that trembled precariously on the edge of his upper lip.

"Stop . . ." he murmured, his tone more bemused than demanding.

"What's wrong, hunter? Frightened of a little . . . human?"

He flinched at her choice of wording. "I just . . . you should . . . Ray . . ."

"Hmm?"

His reply was cut off by a sharp hiss of breath when Rachel nipped his chin. Pulling her closer, his muscles straining as he tried to resist her, Zack uttered a low growl as she let her hands trail along his shoulders; down his arms.

He squeezed his eyes closed as Rachel stared, transfixed by the conflicting emotion that he just couldn't hide. "Stop," he demanded, his voice harsh despite the subtle hint of underlying longing. "Just . . . stop."

"Do you really want me to?"

His nod seemed more like an afterthought, and he cleared his throat, grimacing slightly as she let her nails drag along the skin of his sides, down his waist, down his hips, tracing along the edge of the towel as his muscles jumped under her inspection. Wincing, he let go of her arms only to grab her wrists, jerking them away from his body, her claw caught in the hem of the towel, and he growled as she tugged the end loose. Shoving her hands back, he grabbed the towel before it fell, stepping back as an infusion of heat and color surged under his skin. "Damn it, Ray . . . just . . ." He trailed off as he backed away before turning to stride off toward the bathroom once more.

Rachel's soft laughter filled the room, gaze trained on the sagging towel that barely covered his ass. "Need some help, hunter?"

He snorted but kept walking, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

Her laughter faded but her smile didn't. Sure, she'd known that he was strong. Of course she'd sensed as much. She just hadn't expected him to be put together quite so well; that was all . . . Zack the Hunter was just full of surprises, wasn't he?

The smile widened as a soft giggle escaped her. `Well, well, well . . . what other surprises do you have for me, pretty boy?'

She shoved herself away from the door and sauntered around the room, prowling, she supposed, like a feline. `We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?'

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

Zack dropped into the nearest chair by the table, studiously ignoring Rachel, who was sitting on the bed, legs tucked demurely to one side as she carefully examined her claws.

To add to his discomfort, it had only taken him a minute to figure out that his clothes were soaked. When the curtain had been pulled down, the errant spray had misted everything in the room, his clean clothes included. So he'd had to stomp right back out of the bathroom to dig more out of his bag, much to Rachel's undisguised amusement. Since all the towels were wet, too, he'd had to settle for the driest of them, which wasn't really dry at all. Damp skin worked against him, making his clothes cling to him uncomfortably, but he'd finally managed to get dressed, and by the time he'd stepped out of the bathroom, he'd almost wished that Rachel were gone. At least then he'd be able to relieve some of his aggressions by chasing her. In true Rachel form, though, she hadn't done any such thing.

`_At least she's not laughing at you anymore_,' his inner voice pointed out reasonably.

`Aw, shut up, will you?'

_`Okay, you're mad because you liked what she does to you. You just don't know what's in it for her.'_

`I . . . I said to shut up.'

_`Come on, Zack . . . think about it. Rachel never does anything without a reason. What do you suppose she's after?'_

`Isn't it obvious? She's trying to kill me.'

_`Don't be stupid.'_

He sighed. `She's just trying to get under my skin.'

_`Maybe she likes you.'_

`Ri-i-i-ight . . .'

_`Then ask her.'_

`Like she'll give me a straight answer. She doesn't know the meaning of that.'

_`Then maybe she's just playing with you._

Deliberately ignoring the sarcasm in his youkai's voice, Zack snorted inwardly. `That's exactly what she's doing. Damn it. She's just batting me around like a fucking mouse . . .'

"Are you going to ignore me all night, hunter?"

He stifled a growl. "That was the plan, yes."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Look, Rachel, I don't know what the hell you're trying to do, but you can knock it off. I'm here to do a job, not to entertain you. Got that?"

"You sound a little angry, Zack the Hunter . . . is something wrong?"

"Just stop, all right? Stop with the riddles and the innuendos . . . stop trying to fuck with me, okay?"

She sat back, leaning on her hands. "Fuck with you? Is that what you think I'm trying to do?"

"Aren't you?"

She sighed, lips turning down in a pout. "Maybe I'm finding a new respect for hunters."

"Sure, Ray." He shook his head and rubbed his forehead to stave back a rising headache. "I'm not a toy, okay, and I'm not stupid."

"What makes you believe that I think you're either of those things?"

"Come off it. It's not like we're on a vacation here. I'm taking you to Maine."

Her back stiffened at the mention of that. "That's right . . . that's right . . . how stupid of me. You don't really think I'd forgotten that, do you?"

"I don't know." He stood up and sighed, striding over to grab the room service menu from the caddy behind the telephone. "Just stay the hell away from me. I mean it."

She was silent for a moment. When she didn't respond, he shifted his gaze to the side, eyeing her cautiously. She sat back, mouth rounding in an `oh' as her eyes lit with some sort of understanding that eluded Zack' comprehension. "I get it . . ."

"Get what?"

She waved her hand, curling her legs under her as she sat up and squared her shoulders. "You've got a bitch back home, don't you?"

"That's none of your b—yes," he blurted, face reddening as he tamped down the misplaced feeling of guilt that assailed him over the lie.

Blinking rapidly, she managed a stiff little smile as she slowly scooted off the bed. "I see."

Zack watched as Rachel strolled over to his suitcase, hefted it onto the bureau, and deftly unfastened the locks. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

She didn't even spare him a glance, lifting the lid and carefully rummaging through it. "What's her name?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral. He couldn't see her face.

"Her name?"

She nodded as she pulled a neatly folded shirt and sniffed it. "Uh-huh."

His mind blanked as he tried to think of a name—any name—to appease the cat. "Cat-Cathy," he said, latching onto the first female name that came to mind. Zack, of course, had no real feelings towards the psychotic woman but she was the only female he could think of at the moment. "What are you doing?"

Dropping the shirt on the short bureau, she reached for the next one, repeating the smelling process before answering. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Zack stared as she continued sniffing through more of his clothes. "You're not going to smell anything in there."

She shot him a dark glower.

"No, I mean it. You're not."

"We'll see, hunter."

"Why do you care, Rachel?"

"I don't."

"You don't, but you're sniffing all my things?"

She shot him a cursory glance as she lifted a pair of jeans to her nose. "That's right," she replied sweetly enough, her voice muffled by the coarse denim.

"You'd have a fit if I rifled through your purse."

"That's different," she shot back.

"How so?"

She dropped the jeans onto the pile of shirts and reached into the suitcase once more. "It just is."

Zack rolled his eyes and pushed her aside, scooping up his clothes and smashing them back into the suitcase again. "Enough."

She wrinkled her nose and leaned to the side, allowing him better access to her rear. "Care to try again?"

Zack rolled his eyes but couldn't stave back the blush that rose. "Just get off my suitcase . . . not that you'd hurt it since you're so fucking scrawny."

She opened and closed her mouth a few times as indignant color tinted her skin. "I'm not scrawny!" she gasped.

"You are," he countered mildly. "Disgustingly scrawny, actually . . ."

"Disgustingly . . .?" she sputtered.

Zack wrapped his hand around her upper arm and nodded at where his fingers overlapped themselves. "Scrawny," he stated again.

"I'm not scrawny," she gritted out, yanking her arm away from him. "I'm sleek. There's a huge difference, hunter."

He chuckled and leaned in toward her, his face no more than inches away from hers. "You're scrawny, —pathetically so. Get used to it."

She snorted, shoving him back and hopping off the suitcase before she stomped over to the bed and threw herself down on it in a huff. The bed barely trembled, and Zack tried not to laugh—and resisted the urge to point that out to her, too. "I'm from LA, pretty boy. Everyone's skinny in LA . . . have you seen most of the famous actresses? They're all underweight—in fact, they're probably more underweight than I am."

"They say the camera adds ten pounds," he agreed.

"See?"

"Rachel?"

"What?"

"You're not on TV."

"Are you sure you have a girlfriend?"

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Oh, heavens no!" she said, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "I'm just wondering why you didn't mention her before."

Whipping around to pin her with as menacing a glower as he could muster, Zack planted his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. "Can we drop this?"

"Hmm, nice try, hunter . . ."

"I mean it."

"Either you're lying about having a bitch . . . or you haven't been very close to her . . ." Her expression brightened dramatically as she snapped her fingers and rolled onto her hands and knees, staring at Zack with undisguised amusement. "Is she frigid?"

Zack stifled a growl. "No!"

"Are you?"

"Will you just shut the hell up, Rachel? Just sit there . . . don't talk, don't think—don't do anything!"

She opened her mouth to argue.

He poked a finger at her. "Not . . . a . . . thing."

She scowled at him, sitting up and crossing her arms over her chest. "For how long?"

"Knock it off! Just sit there while I order something for you to eat."

"I'm not hungry," she ground out.

"Well, too damn bad! You look like you're going to blow away if the wind picks up!"

She snapped her mouth closed and seemed to shrink back a little. Zack ignored the twinge of guilt that assailed him as he turned around and grabbed the phone. `Irritating. . . I swear to God, she's trying to kill me . . .'


End file.
